Natalie's Merchant
by puddleducks
Summary: The story is [Complete]. And, for any new or exceptionally lazy readers, there is a synopsis at the beginning of this last chapter that should fill you in quite loosely. ;) Thanks to all!
1. Vulcan, ensign, beagle, birdie, BOOM!

Hello. :)

We are the mysterious entity known as "Puddleducks". Well, we're not _that_ mysterious - we're just two fairly frequent fanfic writers who decided to collaborate on a story. Rather than put our two heads together on it, however, we determined to make it a game, both for us and the reader. 

Our game is that neither knows what the other will write next - sort of a blind-leading-the-blind scenario. While this will certainly lead to some interesting challenges, I trust that we are up to the task.

Your game, as the reader, is to guess who we are. :) The first person to correctly identify both authors wins the _Prize of the Dedicato_. 

**Disclaimer:** Star Trek, Enterprise, the characters, and the settings are all owned by Paramount.  
  
**Author:** Puddleducks  
  
**Summary:** ???

**Archive:** By all means, but please email first

**Rating:** PG-13 (for now)  
  
**Dedication:** [TBA]  
  
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**Natalie's Merchant**

Chapter One - Vulcan Ensign Beagle Birdie _Boom!_

  
  
Porthos stared.

"Quit it."

Porthos stared.

"I told you... I don't have any cheese!"

Porthos stared and wagged his tail.

Travis looked the other way.

Suddenly, a strong gust of wind rocked the shuttle pod, lifting it up a good meter before rudely returning it to the ground. It landed with a thud, a bark, and a few choice swear words.

"Oh, _sure_," Travis spat. "We can go umpteen times the speed of light, but forecasting the weather? I guess that's still a big mystery, isn't it?"

Porthos didn't say anything.

Travis sighed and pulled himself off the floor - he was just in time to answer the hail from Enterprise. 

"_Finally_," he thought.

From heaven on high, the sub-commander proceeded to inform him about the other members of the landing party. She assured him that their vital signs were stable, and she reasoned that their lack of communication was due to the severity of the storm, or "Perhaps they have taken refuge in a nearby cave."

"In any event," T'Pol continued, "everyone seems to be alright."

"Well, that's good to know."

Travis had been worried, and truthfully, he still was. He had sprinted back to the shuttle pod after the first lightning strike and had been surprised when the rest of the landing party had failed to follow. After numerous attempts to reach them on their communicators, he had finally called the ship.

"Ensign Mayweather to Enterprise."

"Go ahead, Ensign."

"We're in a big storm down here, Sub-commander," he said nervously. "Thunder, lightning, wind, rain, and-"

"We know."

Travis grumbled under his breath.

"Seems like you might have given us a head's up _then_."

"What was that, Ensign?"

"Uh, sorry, Ma'am," he said. "We've got kind of a bad connection."

"I see," she said calmly. "Is everyone with you?"

"No, Ma'am," he explained. "That's why I called. I can't raise them on their communicators."

"How long have they been missing?"

Travis ignored her as he suddenly perked at a familiar noise.

"Hold on, Sub-commander... I hear something."

He cautiously eased towards the window and peered out through the purposeful rain.

"Ensign?"

"It's Porthos, Ma'am... I can hear him; I just can't see him, though."

"Try hailing it," T'Pol suggested.

"_Ma'am?_"

There was a slight pause.

"Whistle," she said.

"Whistle?"

"Yes, Ensign," she said. "You do know how to whistle, don't you? You simply put your lips together and-"

"I'll try, Ma'am," he interrupted.

Travis whistled. Though he could still hear Porthos barking, the sounds did not get any closer.

"It didn't work," he said.

There was a slight pause.

"Ensign, is the hatch open or closed?" she asked flatly.

"It's closed."

"Perhaps you would have better luck if you opened it."

"It's, uh, really bad out there, Sub-commander."

"Open the hatch, Ensign."

"Yes, Ma'am," he sighed.

Travis squinted his eyes, turned his head, and pushed the button. The hatch lifted, and the wind blew a chilling mist of rain inside the pod. Mayweather held his breath in anticipation of the fatal lightning bolt, and when he did not die instantly, he chanced a peek and quickly resumed his respiration.

"Alright," he sighed. "It's open..."

"Proceed."

"M-Ma'am?"

"Hail the captain's pet," she said calmly.

"Oh! (_Whew.._) Yes, Ma'am..."

Travis whistled. Though he could still hear Porthos barking, once again, the sounds did not get closer.

"It didn't work," he said, then he added, "I think I saw his tail or something. He's about a hundred meters away, just inside the woods..."

(Why on earth did you just tell her that? Are you _crazy??_)

"Perhaps you should go retrieve it," T'Pol said clearly.

Travis shuttered. 

(_See??_)

"Uhh... You're cracking up, Sub-commander..."

"Go retrieve it, Ensign."

(Oh, Lord...)

"Uh... Ma'am?" he squeaked. "I'm not really comfortable with...storms."

"I've gathered that."

"Can't you just, uh, beam him up or something?"

Travis closed his eyes and crossed his fingers.

"Go retrieve it, Ensign," she repeated. "That's an order."

Travis slumped and examined his feet. He really preferred them where they were - inside the relatively safe confines of the pod.

"Ensign?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he grimly acknowledged.

Standing in the open hatchway, already three-quarters into a good soaking, Travis tensed and gritted his teeth. He took a deep breath and tried to settle his nerves, then he wringed his hands and promptly shook them at his sides.

"Ok, you can do this," he said to himself. "One... Twoooo...."

***

An odd-looking bird sat in an average-looking tree, enjoying the storm.

"Storms are good," thought the bird.

Suddenly, he heard a sharp sounding "eeeee!" from the nearby meadow. The bird cocked his head and looked.

"Curious," he thought.

The strange creature emerged from the even stranger rock that had fallen from the sky earlier that day. The creature seemed rather excited, as it was running and screaming with what could only be joy.

"It must like storms, too," thought the bird.

The creature dashed across the grassy meadow and quickly reached the tree line, after which it disappeared from view. Immediately, it ceased its screaming and began whistling a merry tune.

"Ah!" thought the bird. "So that was you earlier, eh? Bully!"

The bird whistled back.

Shortly, the creature re-emerged from the forest's edge, where it promptly resumed both its run and its exuberant scream. It now appeared to be carrying some sort of smaller beast.

"It must be quite hungry," the bird mused. "Quite hungry, indeed..."

Without hesitation, the creature quickly sprinted back across the meadow and dove gracefully beneath its rock.

The bird sighed.

"Oh, that I could hunt so well..." he lamented. 

Inspired, he cautiously side-stepped towards an unsuspecting nut. 

***

Travis lay panting on the shuttle pod floor. Porthos shook himself off, wagged his tail, and licked the ensign's nose.

"Quit it!" he groused.

Still out of breath, Travis sat up and fumbled for a rag. He wiped his face, then he opened his communicator and contacted the ship.

"Mayweather to Enterprise."

Static.

"Mayweather to Enterprise," he repeated.

More static.

"Oh, that's just great!"

Travis gazed out upon the once peaceful meadow and shuttered. As he slowly reached to close the hatch, a bolt of lightning flashed brilliantly nearby, followed directly by a deafening blast of thunder.

From his perch high above, the bird heard another joyful scream, and he quickly squawked his agreement.

"Yes, that one _was _particularly lovely, wasn't it!"

***

After ten long minutes, during which the shuttle pod shook, rocked, rattled, lifted, and fell, the ensign's communicator chirped to life.

"_Finally_," he thought.

"Go ahead, Sub-commander."

"We were able to locate the other members of the landing party," she crackled. "Though their exact positions are unknown, their bio-signs appear to be stable."

"Were you able to contact them?"

"No," she said. "We believe there is either too much interference from the storm, or perhaps they have taken refuge in a nearby cave."

"I guess they _could_ be in a cave," he agreed. "We saw one earlier this morning."

"In any event," T'Pol continued, "everyone seems to be alright."

"Well, that's good to know."

"What is the status of the captain's pet?" she asked, her voice quavering with distortion.

"Porthos," he corrected in obvious irritation.

There was a brief pause.

"Very well, Ensign Mayweather," she said statically. "How is...Porthos?"

"He's hungry," Travis said. "And he's wet."

"I trust you found him, then?"

Travis rolled his eyes. 

(_God_, sometimes she can be so...)

"Yes, Ma'am," he huffed, then he remembered his manners. "I-I'm sorry, Sub-commander. I'm a little wet, too. And a little grumpy."

"Perhaps you should change into some dry clothes," she suggested. "Did you bring an extra set?"

"No," he said. "I mean, 'No, Ma'am'."

"Try to stay calm, Ensign," she garbled. "The storm should be ...ver in ...out three ...ours."

"I can't understand you, Sub-commander," he said loudly. "You're breaking up."

"I sa... to st... c...lm. The stor... will be ov... in ab... ...ee hours."

(I'd like to see _you_ stay calm in this...)

"Yes, Ma'am," he said loudly.

"I'll ...et you ...ow when th... cl... up, T'Po... out."

"What??" he yelled.

"T'Pol ...t," she crackled firmly.

The lights on the communicator went dark, and Travis snapped it shut in disgust. He looked back at Porthos.

Porthos stared.

"Quit it!" he fussed.

Porthos stared and licked his chops. 

***

Outside, the storm grew ominously worse...

  
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	2. Itinerant treedwellers

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Author note: Ack, delays... I'm sorry! Really, I am! Also, the **Dedicato Award** is still up for grabs to anyone who can figure out who we are!! Enjoy the chappie...

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"It was a dark and stormy night."

"Really? I'd never have noticed."

"Down in the dark, dark cave, a brave but vertically-challenged Brit awaited death by thunder, surely -"

"Trip?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

"Just tryin' to have a little fun," Trip said sulkily. "S'not exactly a lot else to be done around here."

"Well," Jonathan said, speaking for the first time, "perhaps if you focused a little less on telling stories and more on what's actually happening, we might just get somewhere."

"Get where?" Trip asked him. "We're here, stuck in some godforsaken excuse for a cave... in the middle of a thunderstorm."

"Which will eventually subside," the captain retorted. "I just hope Porthos is okay," he mused, turning back to stare at one of the cave's walls.

"He's a dog, Cap'n," Trip offered. "Dogs love the rain. Right?"

Jonathan shot him a look that would have made T'Pol, Soval and a good half of the Vulcan compound back home proud. It was a look that clearly said, "Shut up now, and I won't let Malcolm's guys use your ass for target practice."

"Can you hear that?" Malcolm asked, cocking his head in the direction of the entrance of the cave.

Trip stared at him. "Right about now, I can hear thunder, lightning and -"

"You can't hear lightning, you idiot," Malcolm retorted. "You see lightning and you hear thunder. Call yourself an American."

"High talk comin' from someone who hails from Great ol' Britain, land of neverendin' wind and rain."

"Yank."

"Idiot."

"Pillock."

"Uh... jackass."

"Getting slow... featherbrain."

"Cretin."

"Nincompoop."

"Uh..."

"When you two have *quite* finished," Jonathan interrupted, exasperated. "Thank you."

"And as I was saying," Malcolm continued blithely, staring at Trip, "can you hear that outside? It sounded like a bird."

"How the hell can you heard a *bird* in this weather?!"

"Quite easily, believe it or not. It makes an irritating noise that has the sole effect of making me want to strangle it."

"I can't hear a bird."

"Try listening for it."

"What do you think I'm doin'? Teachin' it ta do a two-step?!"

The argument continued in this vein for some time before another flash of lightning lit up the inside of the cave, giving the three men a chance to see each other for about three seconds until everything went dark again. Complete silence then fell all around - even the wind seemed to quieten down.

And then a bird clearly squawked.

Malcolm smirked, now invisible in the near darkness. "Told you," he said triumphantly, sounding like a kid.

"Oh, shut up," Trip retorted.

Jonathan sighed and returned to worrying about his dog.

***

Back in the shuttlepod - alone in the shuttlepod - Travis stared at Porthos. The dog had curled up into a furry little ball on the pilot's seat and had somehow managed to fall asleep, completely and utterly oblivious to the storm outside.

Travis hated Porthos right then. Really, he did.

His communicator, now almost forgotten by his side, began to chirp again. Enterprise. It had to be. Flipping it open, the helmsman shot the captain's pet one last dirty look before answering.

"Ensign... your... cation... ali... gns... pproaching."

For the second time the connection went dead abruptly and Travis stared at the dormant device in his hand in disgust. "That's it," he declared. "I hate you."

The communicator had nothing to say to that, so he snapped it shut and tossed it back on the co-pilot's seat while he sat against it, listening to the sounds outside and trying to figure out a) who had been on the other end of that hail, and b) what on earth they had been trying to say to him before it cut out.

Now that he actually had time to think about it, the voice had sounded remarkably like T'Pol's, although that was certainly no guarantee that it was in fact her. It could equally have been Hoshi or any other of the female crew on bridge duty at the time.

And as to what had been said to him... only a couple of words had actually been fully audible, but he could easily hazard a guess at the whole sentence... "Ensign, your location... something something approaching." Fizz, sputter, dead communicator.

Something approaching?

Moving over to the storage locker at the rear of the shuttlepod, Travis removed the phase pistol that had been stored in there (and silently thanking Lieutenant Reed's paranoid tendencies at the same time) before resuming his seat and staring at the pod's hatch, waiting for... whatever could be out there to come.

***

The nut had proven too tough an opponent. Disappointed in himself and in his hunting ability, the odd-looking bird had left the safety of his tree above the strange creature's rock, and flapped along the wind's path until he had spotted another tree next to a series of caves.

And joy of joys! there was a whole cluster of nuts at the end of one of the branches. Landing on that very branch, he immediately became aware of more noises coming from inside one of the caves.

"Perhaps they know the rock-creature," the bird thought to himself and called out loud to them, asking them if indeed they did.

The response came almost straight away, much more clearer than it had sounded before, although the bird couldn't quite catch what they were trying to say.

"I'll try again in a bit," he promised himself, hopping along to where the nuts were growing on their own little twig.

As he tucked into what was hopefully the first of many nuts, the bird was blissfully unaware of the shadows moving through the trees at the edge of his vision.


	3. Lily's Tiger

  
Thanks to all for the kind reviews, and remember, to be considered for the venerable **Dedicato Award**, you must submit two and only two names. Of course, you are welcome to guess as many times as you like, as long as that number does not exceed three. :)   


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**  
Chapter 3 - Lily's Tiger**

Approximately 31 hours and 17 minutes earlier, prior to the storm and the mission that left the crew very much within it, Enterprise entered orbit around the home world of their most recent First Contactee: the Trendarians of Trendar. The visit was more than social, however, as the ship's chief engineer had recently informed his captain of a somewhat serious problem.  
  
"How'd it happen?"  
  
"I'm not real sure," Trip said as he leaned against the jam of the ready room door. "The ones that were online - they're fine. I mean, they're as good as new. The four reserves, though... My only guess is the shielding."  
  
"The shielding?" Archer asked.  
  
"Yep. The workin' relays are shielded the same as the rest of the engine, but the reserves are just stored in a dampenin' container."  
  
"So you think it had something to do with that ion storm?"  
  
"It was that, or I don't know what," Trip continued. "I got Ramirez runnin' some diagnostics on the duds. It looks like it happened about four days ago."  
  
"That puts it in the right time frame," Archer said. "Is there anything you can do with them?"  
  
"Nope. They're shot," Trip said flatly. "Fused solid."  
  
"Can you make some new ones?"  
  
"Well, I think we can do everything but synthesize the itonium. We just don't have the facilities. That stuff's gotta be refined to somethin' like 99.99 percent."  
  
"99.999743," T'Pol interrupted. She edged past the worried engineer and addressed the captain. "Ensign Sato has just reported receiving a transmission from a nearby star system."  
  
"What kind of transmission?" Archer asked. "Did they hail us?"  
  
"No, she believes that it was simply communications traffic."  
  
"I hope yer gettin' ready to tell us they're post-warp..."  
  
"Our sensors seem to suggest so," T'Pol noted.  
  
Trip looked expectantly at Archer.  
"Cap'ain, if they're post-warp, they'd almost have to have _somethin'_ we could use..."  
  
Archer considered both of his officers for a moment.  
"How far?"  
  
"Three light years."  
  
"Have...Mayweather lay in a course," he ordered.  
  
"Let's just hope they're friendly," added Trip.   
  
The captain sighed and nodded his head; T'Pol agreed by slightly lifting her left eyebrow, after which she returned directly to the bridge.

***

The ever-prepared Malcolm Reed switched on his pen light, and the three men watched as the tiny beam cut a dreary path through the damp darkness of the cave. Although the storm had all but ended, they couldn't leave just yet, because...  
  
"Phlox!" yelled Captain Archer.  
  
He was quickly answered by his own voice bouncing in and amongst the cavern walls. The good doctor, however, did not respond.  
  
"Samples, huh?"  
  
"That's what he said, Cap'ain. I figured he was just gonna go poke around in the back there for a while. I didn't think he'd wander off, 'specially without a light."  
  
"Perhaps Denobulans can see in the dark..." Reed wondered aloud.  
  
Jonathan cupped his hands and yelled again with similar results.  
  
"Alright, well... The storm's let up enough for somebody to run back to the shuttle pod. Malcolm, you're it. Trip and I will look for Phlox and-"  
  
"Sir, may I suggest that we wait until we have reinforcements from Enterprise. Caves can be quite treacherous even with the proper equipment."  
  
Expecting as much, the captain nodded.  
  
"Thank you, Malcolm," he said. "Since you're the most experienced, uhh... spelunker, that's why I want you to go back - you know what we'll need if this turns into a full-fledged manhunt. I want you to contact the ship, get some help, and meet us back here. We're not going too far into this place with just your pen light."  
  
"My pen light, Sir?"  
  
"Your pen light, Lieutenant."  
  
"Certainly, Sir."  
  
Reed surrendered his trusty torch and again warned both men of the potential perils that awaited them deep within the cave. Trip mentioned something about him being an "old mother hen", then warned, "Don't let that bird get ya!"  
  
The two exchanged a few more needling insults before the captain reminded the lieutenant of his mission, after which he added:   
  
"Oh, and Malcolm... One more thing..."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"On your way back to the pod, could you keep an eye open for Porthos?"  
  
"Will do, Sir," he said, then he warily walked to the entrance, looked up, looked back, drew a deep breath, and bolted.  
  
"And Travis!" remembered the captain.  
  
Malcolm raised an arm in acknowledgment and quickly disappeared; Jonathan and Trip returned their attention to the unknown depths of the cave.  
  
"Well, Cap'ain, how far ya think he got?"  
  
"Phlox? Not too far. He's probably just has his nose buried in 'an exciting new fungus, hmm?'"  
  
"Hey! That's pretty good!"  
  
"Thanks."

***

An average-looking bird sat in an average-looking tree staring at what she assumed was a peculiar cousin. _Two or three times removed,_ she hoped. _Or maybe... Maybe he's not a cousin at all. No, no, I don't like this. Not one bit. Not at all. Not at all._  
  
Silently she flew.  
  
The odd-looking non-cousin did not see her, however, as he was thoroughly invested in the third nut of his meal...   
  
"A regular beak-buster, this one, what?" he griped. "I'll have you yet, my pretty!"   
  
On the other hand (and/or wing), he *did* notice the gangly beast who came running from the cave and promptly squawked out a friendly greeting. Obviously in a hurry, the creature politely paused for a moment and returned the salutation, although the tone was quite sharp.  
  
"Ah!" thought the bird. "That must be the fellow's name! Buggerov! I rather like that!"  
  
The bird squawked the name in tribute, at which point, Buggerov stopped dead in his tracks and waved.  
The bird raised a foot in an attempt to mimic the fingered pose but gave up as Buggerov disappeared through the brush.  
  
"I wonder if it's after that strange banana-creature?" the bird mused. "That could prove to be _very_ entertaining!"  
  
Torn between the nut and almost certain adventure, the bird weighed his attention between the two. Suddenly, however, the scales were irreversibly tipped as there was a bright blue flash from the general direction that both Buggerov and the banana-creature had taken.  
  
The bird sighed, and, carefully placing the rugged nut down for later, he launched himself upwind and flapped back towards whatever might be happening at the weird rock, which, now that he'd thought about it for a while...  
  
_Perhaps it's just a hideously ugly ship...? Hmm... It couldn't be Trendarian, then, could it...? Hmm... And what about-? Ooo! Those were a lovely bunch of nuts! I'll have to remember that spot for later!_

***

Travis Mayweather - pistol in one hand, communicator in the other - popped the hatch on the shuttle pod. (He wasn't about to let his imagination get the better of him.) Bravely, he leaned forwards an inch or two and glanced left and right at the drizzling outdoors. Somewhat satisfied, he hailed the ship again.  
  
"Enterprise, do you read me?"  
  
Enterprise did not.  
  
Disheartened, he crouched in the doorway and stared blankly across the meadow. Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of something - something outside the front window, bright yellow.  
  
His heart racing, Travis darted to the shuttle's bow, where he ducked and leaned, desperately straining to see...  
  
Nothing.  
  
"No, no, no," he said to himself. "It's all in your head. Just because you think you heard something about 'aliens', doesn't mean that's really what she said."  
  
The ensign sighed deeply and smiled at his inner logic.  
  
_I bet T'Pol would be proud of me!_ he thought. _Well, in her own special way.._.  
  
Almost instantly, however, his serenity evaporated: he heard a rustling sound from somewhere behind the pod.  
  
"It's just a branch or something," he said to himself. "It could have been anything. I mean, if there really were aliens, they'd send down the other shuttle pod, right? _Unless of course it's too dangerous to fly... _Then they'd just beam us up, right? _Unless the storm was too bad to... _I, uh, wonder what Chef's fixing for supper... _Yeah... Think about supper..._"   
  
Wound ever-so-slightly tighter by his own unsettling thoughts, the ensign nervously returned his attention to the open hatch and the field beyond. Unfortunately, he did so just in time to have his view completely blocked by a flaming-yellow, wide-eyed monster with dangerously white teeth that started to say something along the lines of: "I'm sooooooo glad-!"  
  
Mayweather, of course, screamed and fired, blasting the creature back a good meter from the door as he frantically pushed the "close" button. The hatch sealed faster than normal (with his motivated assistance), and the ensign immediately collapsed against the opposite wall where he took a minute or two to relive the last 15 seconds of his life. His trip down Memory Lane was accompanied by his own heavy breathing, along with the full attention of a recently roused beagle.  
  
"Oh God oh God oh God! What the hell was that?? Oh God! What did it say? What did it say?? Something like, 'I'm so glad to eat you...' Oh God! Gotta calm down... Gotta calm down. Seemed...seemed... familiar... Almost looked like... Noooo... Could it have been? Noooooo...! Could it?? Oh God!"  
  
As he slowly got to his feet, Travis felt as though he was being watched. He could feel two eyes bearing down upon him - hungry eyes, piercing, peering deeply into his very soul, and-  
  
"STOP THAT!!"  
  
Porthos yapped in response but continued staring.  
  
Still seriously jumpy, Travis cautiously leaned over and peeked out the window, at which point, his fear completely drained, only to be replaced by dread and regret (or "dre_gret_ ", as it's known on some worlds.)  
  
He quickly reopened the hatch and rushed out into the light drizzle, just in time to hear his name being called from across the field. Travis looked up, then back down, and repeated this until Lieutenant Reed stood before him, breathless, demanding to know what happened, and who or what was *that*, and why did he fire, and poor Travis was completely dumbfounded until finally he managed to stutter out some kind of sense.  
  
"I - I - I think I just shot...."

***

"Nansy Pickles!"

_(21 hours and 49 minutes earlier...)_

"On behalf of the Secretary of Tourism and Trendarian people...!"

_(...the landing party was greeted...)_

"Welcome to Trendar!"

_(...by a very happy...)_

"I'm sooooo happy to meet you!" 

_(...and very blonde young woman.)_

Looking through the shuttle pod window, Trip was the first to notice her: she was exactly one step closer to the landing pad than would be considered prudent by most sentient beings. He mentioned this to Travis who adjusted and parked the shuttle about a meter to the far side of the large X. The hatch had barely opened before Ms. Pickles was upon them with the above-mentioned greeting. Dressed neatly in a yellow blouse and business skirt, she seemed completely oblivious to the fact that her enthusiasm was showing.  
  
As Captain Archer took her hand (almost in self-defense), Nansy smiled brilliantly and bubbled like pink champagne. Jonathan stumbled a bit then righted himself and introduced the landing party in turn: Lieutenant Malcolm Reed (slightly annoyed), Lieutenant Commander Charles Tucker III (slightly amused), Ensign Hoshi Sato (slightly annoyed), and Ensign Travis Mayweather (slightly scared, but also slightly curious or "scurious", as it's known on some worlds.)  
  
The captain was too busy being "The Captain" to be slightly *anything*, but deep down, he was with Trip. After the introductions were completed, Nansy clicked her heels and gestured like a game show hostess.  
  
"If you'll all come this way!"  
  
They followed her to a smartly decorated state room, wherein they received a class-A holographic tour of Trendar. The crew learned a great deal about Trendar's "rich and varied history!" They learned of Trendar's "vast and bountiful resources!" And they learned that Trendar had achieved warp capability "just five years ago!"  
  
"Five years?" Trip gasped. "I'd a'never guessed that. Your designs must be way ahead of your technology..."  
  
"Why thank you!" Nansy effervesced, at which point she began a thirty-minute monologue about the Trendarian affinity for stressing form over function, exclaiming, proclaiming, eyes wide with a perpetual smile that portrayed both agony and ecstasy (depending upon what the rest of her face was doing.)   
  
Everyone was generally impressed with her presentation, Trip in particular. He was mesmerized, not at what she said but how she so very merrily said it, and after a short time, he began scheming up plans to get her on board Enterprise. His purpose was simple and pure: he wanted to see what would happen when Nansy Pickles met her true oppo-  
  
"You'll have to come visit the ship," the captain said suddenly, interrupting both Nansy and the narrator. "We, uhh... couldn't pass up this opportunity, er, I mean, it's...only fair."  
  
"I wouldn't miss it for the world!" Nansy beamed.  
  
"Me either," Trip grinned, giving his captain a look that could only be described as adoring admiration.  
  
Expanding on his opportunity to get a few words in edgewise, Jonathan Archer brought up the main topic of Enterprise's interest.  
  
"Ms. Pickles, it seems that-"  
  
"Call me Nansy!"  
  
"..."  
  
"...!"  
  
"Uh... Certainly!" Captain Archer smiled. "Nansy, it seems that we've gotten ourselves into a bit of a pick-, uh, we've...run into some...mechanical difficulties, and I was wondering if you could help us."  
  
"I'm sure the Trendarian people will do all that is within their power to assist you!" she chimed. "What seems to be the matter?"  
  
"It's our reserve plasma relays," Trip jumped in. "We need some new ones or some high grade itonium..."  
  
"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Nansy sang. "But I'm sure that Dr. Necessiter will!"  
  
"Doctor Necess-i - uh... ?"  
  
"Necessiter," Hoshi whispered.  
  
"Very good!" Nansy lauded. "Yes, he's the Secretary of Technology!"  
  
"When can we see him?" Archer asked.  
  
"Let me check!"  
  
She checked.   
  
He was out to lunch.  
  
"The Secretary will be back in about an hour. In the meantime..."  
  
Never one for silence, awkward or otherwise, Nansy waded knee-deep into some more Trendarian trivia, driving Lieutenant Reed to Distraction, where he quickly changed trains and traveled to the opposite side of the state room. Once there, he desperately feigned interest in a 3D topographical map of the southern continent.  
  
As they waited for the Tech-Sec to get back from lunch, Hoshi took it upon herself to try to get the woman to talk about something..._anything_...else.  
  
"You must really love your job!" she passively aggressed. "How'd you, uh, get it?"  
  
And, without missing a beat, the energetic emissary launched into her life story, many details of which have been deleted for the purposes of space-time.   
  
Here are a select few:

* Nansy Pickles was born in Lily, the provincial capital of Trendar.  
* She is a vegetarian for the first seven months of each year.  
* Her favorite color is yellow.  
* Surprisingly, she has only four pairs of shoes.  
* Her boyfriend's name is Goff.  
* She speaks seven different languages.  
And...  
* She is the daughter of a diplomat and a food stylist.

(As this last fact is somewhat germane to Ensign Sato's question, it will be expanded below.)

Soon after Nancy's fourth birthday, her mother, Rajina, was appointed ambassador to the northern province of Natalie, where she soon eased various political tensions and brokered several important trade agreements. In the meantime, her father, Oskar, came into his own in the advertising world as the preeminent primper of entrées and confections. His creations were seen in all the major food magazines throughout Trendar proper, and oddly enough, it was he who helped get Nansy assigned to the Department of Tourism through his posturing of a particularly attractive torte.  
  
Two years prior to Enterprise's arrival, the Tourism Secretary's daughter became engaged to a fellow from Ipswych. In the market for any number of professional services, the Tourism Secretary's wife stumbled across the above-mentioned torte on the cover of the spring issue of Vanity Pharr magazine. Completely consumed by its elegance and beauty, she immediately went in search of the photographer in hopes that he would take the pictures of her daughter's wedding's cake. She soon found the man, Jym Stimple, who admitted his part in the cover but quickly confessed that is was the food stylist who had set the award-winning scene.  
  
"Not just any stylist, mind you," Jym said. "Oskar Pickles."  
  
The Secretary's wife blinked with indifference, but she nevertheless set out to find the fellow with the so-called magic touch. Ultimately, she tracked him down to his studio and rudely barged in, only to be quickly shushed by one of Oskar's assistants.  
  
"Please!" the girl whispered. "He's meditating!"  
  
The Secretary's wife was all foot-taps and eye-rolls until Oskar finally came bounding out of his dressing room and rushed towards the display table. She was about to give him what for, when she stopped herself, because, as she later explained to a friend, "There was just something about the man..."  
  
"You call that a salad?" Oskar fumed at the prepared dish. He pitched a minor tantrum, then after a short, weary sigh, he attacked the bowl with a vengeance, his hands a' blur, arranging, rearranging, organizing, until even the tiniest crouton was just so.  
  
A hush fell when Oskar finally stepped back, and the onlookers leaned in anticipation.  
  
"Now," he said. "Now, take your damned picture!"  
  
As he stormed off to his dressing room, the crowd collectively gasped, then broke into spontaneous applause as it bore witness to his creation.   
  
Had there ever been a salad such as this?   
  
The Secretary's wife was beside herself. Completely smitten by his sublime genius, she praised him to no end, and soon, the two got along famously to the point where, when the position of Assistant to the Undersecretary of Tourism opened up, she asked him if he knew of anyone who might like to apply for the job, wherein Oskar introduced the Secretary's wife, the Secretary, the province of Lily, and, indeed, the entire planet itself to the ever-smiling Nansy, who was currently smoldering at the feet of a highly-agitated ensign from Earth.  
  
"I thought she w-was some kind of... of... monster..."  
  
"Well..." Malcolm shrugged. "I don't know if I'd go _that_ far."  
  
Travis bent down to check her pulse, then he took her hand.  
  
"It was the raincoat," he said. "It was just so... so..."  
  
"So yellow?"  
  
"I guess," Travis moaned. "I can't believe I just zapped her like that!"  
  
"Don't be so hard on yourself," he soothed. "I almost shot her a couple of times myself yesterday..."  
  
"What are we gonna do?" Travis whined. "Oh Lord..."  
  
"I suppose we can start by getting her inside the shuttle," Reed said, grabbing her feet, then he thought for a moment. "You know, she's rather attractive when she's like this."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Unconscious."  
  
"Oh."  
  
As they wrestled her into the pod, the wind died down to nothing, the rain all but stopped, and there was nary a sound in the air, except perhaps for a faint - yet increasingly annoying - flapping noise.

  
**********************************  
**********************************


	4. Natalie II

__

Author Note: Again, many apologies for the delay in getting this chapter to you... if it makes you feel any better, I feel dutifully shamed at said delay, and I promise to try and change that when it's my turn to post again...

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

**  
  
Chapter 4: Natalie II**__

Sometime the previous day...  
Malcolm finally grew bored with restudying the southern continent of Trendar, and after a few seconds of staring thoughtfully at the (psychedelic pink) buttons on the biggest panel, he pressed one and found himself looking at the significantly greener and less populated westernmost continent of the planet.

However, before he could even begin to attempt to read the minutiae of information displayed prominently therein, which from a single glance seemed to encompass such exaggerated phrases as "the joys of technological expansion!" and "the marvels of technological progress!", he was joined by man matching the enthusiastic Nansy in her... yellowness, but by far a lot calmer than the Assistant to the Under-secretary of Tourism who was still gushing over something or other to a rapidly glazed-eyes-ing chief engineer.

"You must be Lieutenant Reed," the man said quietly.

Indeed he was.

"I'm Goff, Nansy's... partner."

Opposites clearly attracted, then.

Goff shifted on his feet. "I'd speak directly to your engineer, but he seems to be otherwise... occupied at the moment." And indeed he was; Trip Tucker was still staring in some sort of sick fascination as Nansy pranced, danced and stanced (in a variety of contorted positions) her way around their end of the room as she was undoubtedly continuing the shorter, extended, longer revised history of Trendar.

Goff continued nevertheless. "We've just received word from Doctor Necessiter. He's back from lunch, and is willing to talk with your people about the components you require for your engine."

"Right," Malcolm replied, nodding. "I'll... I'll go and get our engineer, then." He shot a look over at the other side of the room, where Nansy had audibly just launched into a euphuistic tirade about the ills of irresponsible loiterers. "Maybe not just yet," he smirked.

- - - - -  
- - - - -

The odd-looking bird carried on flapping his way through the remainder of the storm, not allowing his mind to dwell on the veritable banquet of nuts that he had almost certainly lost forever in the pursuit of Buggerov and the banana creature.

He was by now almost certain that the rock he had spent time watching earlier was in fact a ship, although it was far too hideously ugly to be Trendarian. Those fools' ships were far too fancy to ever get anywhere... why, he himself could last longer in the air than those things! _And I can find far more nuts than they ever could..._

Reassured by his own hunting skills, the bird continued his wingward trek through the forest.

- - - - -  
- - - - -

Far from the mad-scientist type that the Away Team had privately envisaged (and that his name implied), Doctor Iambard Necessiter was not old and withering with wispy grey hair encircling a shiny bald patch. Nor did he sport thick-rimmed glasses (or even a local equivalent). Nor did he wear a dust-stained white lab coat with steam rising mysteriously and somewhat ominously from a side pocket.

In fact, he looked, and indeed acted, like a perfectly normal Trendarian - although, given the fact that the Away Team's only prolonged, experience of Trendarians was Nansy herself, that wasn't really saying much at all (although his lurid pink trousers spoke more than words ever could, really...).

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," Necessiter said genuinely after he had been introduced (by Goff), taking in the Starfleet officers with one welcoming smile. "Now, I understand you've been having some trouble with your relay circuits?"

There had then begun a fairly enthusiastic conversation between both Necessiter and Trip, centring mainly on the problem at hand, although Jonathan could have sworn that at more than one point in the proceedings that he had overheard mention of shore leave prospects.

However, it was not long until the Trendarian technician declared to a fairly impassive Away Team that he did indeed have the parts that Trip had decided that Enterprise was sorely lacking in, and that it would be simple folly to supply the ship with those components.

"But," he added, "it will take a while to reach the storage facilities."

"Why?" Jonathan asked.

Necessiter looked... well, a little abashed, really.

It turned out (much to the chagrin of the Starfleet officers) that in true Trendarian style, the storage facilities where many of the spare components for various mechanical purposes were kept was somewhere with damn splendid aesthetics... on the edge of one of Trendar's oldest and most treasured national forests, near the northern coast of the western continent that Lieutenant Reed had been about to study when pulled aside by Goff.

In order to reach these facilities, one had to successfully navigate south across the northern continent of Trendar (where they were now, explained an excited Nansy), and over the straits of water that separated this continent from that of the westernmost one, which, although a continent in its own right, was also a subsidence of Natalie, the northern continent.

Natalie II, as it was unofficially and affectionately known by the natives there, was also renowned on Trendar as the ultimate hot spot for naturalistic sightseeing, with "the widest variety of animals and wildlife in ten light-years!" (Nansy again), although Travis and Hoshi nearly laughed out loud when Malcolm muttered under his breath that clearly Nansy had never seen footage of English football supporters.

To cut a long story short, which is sadly necessary unless one wishes to hear yet more snippets of Nansy Pickle's event-filled life (which the Away Team felt - quite justifiably - that that had had enough of) that she had shared while en-route, Doctor Necessiter escorted the five Starfleet officers to the storage facilities on Natalie II, where he and Trip spent around three hours manually going through the three warehouses looking for the parts he needed; they may have developed the capacity for warp technology, but the people of Trendar had yet to devise an efficient filing and cataloguing system for the vast amounts of clutter and general paraphernalia in their possession.

- - - - -  
- - - - -

Jonathan looked at Malcolm's torch in his hand, both only slightly illuminated by natural haze given off by the cave's wall. "I thought the batteries were supposed to last longer than this," he accused nobody in general, the failed piece of equipment in his hand now not doing very much at all excepting acting as a dead weight.

"They are rechargeable ones, Cap'n," Trip offered from out of the murky gloom.

The captain sounded sceptical. "Rechargeable."

"Yep," Trip's voice continued. "Think Malcolm said somethin' about them bein'... uh... solar powered."

Silence in the cave.

"We're screwed, aren't we?" Trip asked.


	5. Plumpy is the Brim

No one has qualified for the Dedicato as of yet... Or have they?? Regardless, the winner (if any) will be announced after the story is complete, and speaking of which:  
  
Why is the crew poking around in the middle of nowhere?  
  
Did Nansy Pickles spend several years in the Merchant Marine?  
  
Will Phlox be found _alive?_  
  
Does Doctor Necessiter really have it all together?  
  
Has Malcolm finally eluded his fine-feathered tormentor?  
  
Find out the answers to these questions and more!  
  
In this week's exciting episode of:   
  
_Natalie's Merchant_

**Chapter 5 - Plumpy is the Brim**

Over the course of ten minutes, give or take, the weather turned from bone-chilling to balmy as the storm decided to dole its wrath elsewhere. The sun (or suns, as the case may be) appeared from behind the clouds and lit up a colorful assortment of alien rainbows. This crisscrossed blend of iridescent arches differed from normal, run-of-the-mill rainbows in that they had a notable absence of a certain shade of blue. On Earth, the shade would be called "periwinkle", on Trendar it wouldn't be called anything because they don't have that color.  
  
Their periwinkle-less-ness notwithstanding, the rainbows were indeed a sight to behold and would have impressed every member of the landing party (had any been outside to see it). The two likeliest candidates for this psychedelic experience were currently ensconced in a shuttle pod, worrying about the still unconscious Nansy Pickles. Unbeknownst to them, however, they would be enjoying the splendors of nature quite soon.  
  
"How long does it take for a stun to wear off?" Travis asked.  
  
"Not long enough," Malcolm said grimly. "I wonder what she's doing out here?"  
  
"I don't know," Travis said. "Looking for us?"  
  
"Probably as good a guess as any," Malcolm responded. "The only question now is: why?"  
  
The ever-yellow Nansy was stretched out in front of them on a narrow bench. Her arm dangled lifelessly from her side, and Travis gently lifted it and tried to make it stay with the rest of her, but the bench was too narrow, the arm was too limp, and the gravity was too determined to see it to the lowest point possible. Finally, Travis gave up and carefully stuffed her delicate hand into the pocket of her raincoat, giving her the appearance of a fashion model caught napping in mid-pose.  
  
"Maybe we should use smelling salts," Travis suggested. He started for the medical kit but was quickly intercepted.  
  
"Not so fast, Ensign," said Lieutenant Reed. "We don't know how she might react."  
  
"Well, she'd probably just wake up, wouldn't she?"  
  
"That's what I'm afraid of," Malcolm said warily. "Let's just let nature take its course, shall we?"  
  
Travis nodded, and about three seconds later, nature did just that as Nansy's hand escaped the rubbery yellow confines of her rain jacket and once again dangled lifelessly at her side. This time, however, it was met by the affectionate tongue of a well-meaning Porthos.  
  
Nansy stirred.  
  
"Wait a minute," Travis said. "I think she's coming around!"  
  
Nansy moaned.  
  
"I suppose she is," Malcolm sighed.  
  
Nansy blinked.  
  
"Ms. Pickles? Are you ok?"  
  
Nansy swore.  
  
_It is here where Nansy begins a tirade during which she makes liberal use of the F-word, the S-word, and multiple combinations thereof. She also uses the G-word, which happens to be Trendarian and untranslatable. Since we don't really want an R or NC-17 rating, we will self-censor all but the G-word, and if the fanfic editors don't like it, they can go ghlyth themselves._

"You BLEEP-ing shot me! Why the BLEEP did you BLEEP-ing shoot me??"  
  
"Just calm down, Ms. Pickles," Malcolm soothed. "Everything's alright..."  
  
"Alright? ALRIGHT??" Nansy screeched. "Let me BLEEP-ing shoot your sorry ass and say 'everything's BLEEP-ing alright'! I cannot believe this BLEEP-ing BLEEP!"  
  
"It was my fault!" Travis confessed. "But it was an accident, I swear!"  
  
Highly agitated, Nansy stood angrily up and just as quickly sat angrily back down as her body was still debating the finer points of phaser shock. Stunned in a somewhat different sense, both men rushed to her aid, which really didn't do much to help the situation.  
  
"Get your BLEEP-ity-BLEEP-BLEEP-ing hands off me you damned dirty apes!"  
  
"W-we were just trying to help," Malcolm stuttered. "Honestly!"  
  
"Oh YEAH!" Nansy spat. "I really want your BLEEP-ing help! What? Are you gonna pick me up and 'acci-BLEEP-ing-dentally' throw me to the BLEEP-ing floor?? It's that the way you people operate? And just WHY-IN-THE-BLEEP is my BLEEP-ing hand so BLEEP-ing WET???"  
  
"Uh, you got licked, Ma'am, by-"  
  
_In his defense, Ensign Mayweather intended to fully explain that the captain's pet had innocently licked her hand. His word order was somewhat unfortunate, however, because the part about the beagle remained undisclosed due to the fact that..._  
  
"You BLEEP-ing perverts!!"  
  
"No! Please! You don't understand!"  
  
"Oh, I think I understand plenty!" she raged. "I understand that you get your BLEEP-ity BLEEP-ing jollies by taking advantage of helpless BLEEP-ing women! You have no idea just what kind of BLEEP-ing trouble you ghlythers are in, but I assure you when- WHAT THE BLEEP IS THAT THING????"  
  
"That is the captain's pet," Malcolm said with the tone of someone who's had just about enough. "He's the one who licked your bloody hand!"  
  
"YOU LET A GIANT BLEEP-ING RAT LICK MY BLEEP-ING HAND???"  
  
Before either of them could explain the differences between rats and dogs, Nansy apparently observed that there weren't enough objects flying through the air and immediately decided to do something about it. Considering that most of the items on the pod were stored away, her volume of fire was quite impressive. Malcolm and Travis found themselves stumbling over each other to "Get the BLEEP out!!", which they did, finally, as Nansy proceeded to wreck the shuttle pod.  
  
"Oh, no!" Travis said. "I left my communicator in there!"  
  
"Give her a minute."  
  
(Moments later...)  
  
"Look out!"  
  
"Nice catch, Ensign."  
  
"Thanks, Sir."  
  
The two men watched in amazement as the shuttle pod rocked, rattled, tilted, shifted, and shook.   
_Man, that ship's had a rough day,_ Travis thought.   
  
The show continued on for a long minute until both had the same disturbing vision. They turned and looked at each other, wide-eyed, and simultaneously gasped, "Porthos!", and not two seconds later, the dog appeared.  
  
"Heads up!" shouted Travis.  
  
"I've got him, I've got him!" Malcolm screamed as he stumbled towards the "landing" zone.   
  
His rugby years well behind him, the good Lieutenant still made a spectacular catch. Porthos met his outstretched hands with a yap, and his tail was soon back up to speed. The dog safely on the ground, Malcolm sighed deeply and turned to Travis.  
  
"Anything else in there we need to worry about?"  
  
"Not that I can think of," Travis said. "Uh, Sir?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Uh, where's the rest of the landing party?"  
  
Malcolm startled at the thought.  
  
"I knew I was forgetting something," he said as he reached for the communicator. "Captain Archer and Commander Tucker are presently in a cave."  
  
"I see," said Travis. "And what about-"  
  
.................................................  
..............................................  
.................................................  
  
"Phlox!"  
  
"Phlo-x-x-x!   
  
(The following segment is brought to you in 2-D, so please open your browser at least as wide as this sentence.)  
  
"This is ridiculous."  
  
"Well, there's nothing we can do about it."  
  
"I know, but still..."  
  
"Trip..."  
  
"I mean, we can figure out a way to  
travel to strange new worlds, but we  
can't come up with a flashlight that'll  
last more than three hours?"  
  
"Yeah, doesn't make sense, does it?"  
  
"No, it doesn't. Just whose idea was  
it to come into this cave, anyways?"  
  
"Yours."  
  
"I know... It was a rhetorical question."  
  
"Are you coming over or are you just   
gonna stand there and whine?"  
  
"I'm comin'."  
  
"Whoa! Not so fast! There's a drop-off."  
  
"Thanks for lettin' me in on it."  
  
"You have to hug the wall."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Just feel your way along."  
  
"Don't have much of a choice, do I?"  
  
Hissssssssss!  
  
"What the hell was that?"  
  
"I-I'm not sure. Didn't sound friendly."  
  
"Remind me why we don't have our   
phase pistols?"  
  
"Doctor Necessiter said this place was a   
paradise, remember?"  
  
Hissssss!  
  
"I don't know about where _you_ come  
from, but where I come from, Paradise  
doesn't hiss!"  
  
"Just throw something at it."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
Hissssssssss!  
  
"Try a rock."  
  
"Half-way across the galaxy and  
I'm reduced to chuckin' stones..."  
  
Hissssssss!  
  
Ker-chunk!  
  
HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!  
  
"Now he's really pissed."  
  
HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!  
  
"Try it again. Throw a bunch of 'em."  
  
"Lord have mercy...."  
  
Ker-chunk!  
  
Ker-chunk!  
  
Ker-plink!  
  
Ker-plock!  
  
HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!  
  
Ker-squamp!  
  
HISSS  
S  
S  
S  
s  
s  
s  
s...  
  
"I think he's gone."  
  
Ker-chunk!  
  
Ker-chunk!  
  
Ker-plink!  
  
Ker-plock!  
  
"...?"  
  
"..."  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"Just makin' sure."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Alright. Here I come."  
  
"Remember to hug the-"  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Hug the wall."  
  
"Just a little further."  
  
"I hate caves."  
  
"Since when?"  
  
"Since about three hours ago..."  
  
"Yeah, well."  
  
"Whew... Ok, now what?"  
  
"There's a passage behind me. I think it   
leads to the entrance."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Look, I don't wanna start soundin' like   
Malcolm... but maybe we'd better wait  
until they come find us. I mean, we can't  
see sh-"  
  
"Trip, it'll be fine. Come on."  
  
"You're the boss..."  
  
"Captain? Commander?"  
"Phlox?"  
  
"What in the world are you doing down   
here? This cave is extremely dangerous!"  
  
"We were looking for YOU."  
  
"Hey! Where'd you get the light?"  
  
Hisssss!  
  
"Well, it seems that the inhabitants of this  
cave create their own! They're a remarkable  
species, hmm?"  
  
"What are they?"  
  
Hisssssss!  
  
"I believe they're similar to cockroaches. The  
little fellows light up when you turn them on  
their backs! Quite frankly, I'm surprised you  
haven't encountered one already."  
  
"Dumb luck I guess."  
  
"I don't suppose you've seen Porthos?"  
  
"Sorry, Captain, I'm afraid not."  
  
"Travis?"  
  
"Hide nor hair, as you say, hmm?"  
  
"The ship?"  
  
"Not a peep!"  
  
"I see..."  
  
Hissssss!  
  
"You doin' ok?"  
  
"Fit as a fiddle!"  
  
"Good."  
  
"Well, gentlemen, shall we?"  
  
"Dance?"  
  
"Now, now, Commander! Shall we rejoin  
the rest of the landing party?"  
  
"Well, I'm all for that, but the cap'ain says  
the exit's this way..."  
  
"Nonsense! It's right up here!"  
  
"We just came from there, Phlox."  
  
"It's a dead end."  
  
"Really? Hmm..."  
  
"..."  
  
"..."  
  
"..."  
  
Hissssss?

"Well, I'll be a son of a-"  
  
.................................................  
..............................................  
.................................................  
  
"_...BLEEP! And I'm not BLEEP-ing kidding!_"  
  
(Meanwhile, back at the shuttle pod - or what was left of it.)  
  
"You'd think she'd be out of steam by now," Travis noted.  
  
"Apparently not," Malcolm sighed.   
  
Having successfully contacted Enterprise, Malcolm and Travis were busy waiting out their second storm of the day. Presumably, high above them, a search and rescue party was being organized by T'Pol. She had urged them to "remain calm" and promised them that "help will arrive shortly."  
  
"She says that a lot."  
  
_"...and my BLEEP-ing lawyer!!"_  
  
"Who?"  
  
"T'Pol," Travis said. "She's always telling everyone to stay 'calm'."  
  
"I hadn't noticed."  
  
_"...wasn't born BLEEP-ing yesterday, and..."_  
  
"Well, she does," Travis said. "I guess to her, though, all humans are panicky."  
  
"I suppose," Malcolm said.  
  
_"...you BLEEP-ing BLEEPs!! Did you hear me???"_  
  
"Would you kindly hand me your phase pistol."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Your phase pistol, Ensign."  
  
"You're not g-going to..."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous!" Malcolm said. "It's that damned bird I'm after!"  
  
He pointed skywards just as a voice from above rang out.  
  
"Buggerov! Squawk! Squawwk! Tweeet!"  
  
Travis looked up and saw an odd-looking bird perched high in an attractive tree. The bird seemed to be having a wonderful time.  
  
"You're going to shoot that bird?" Travis asked as he nonchalantly dodged an emergency ration pack.  
  
"Well, shoot at, yes," said Malcolm. "Hit? I haven't decided yet."  
  
"Do you have a reason?"  
  
"Other than the fact that it really, really gets on my nerves? No."  
  
Travis shrugged and handed over his pistol. Malcolm was just about to take justifiable aim when, suddenly, the noisy little clearing in which they were standing got significantly noisier. For the purposes of clarity, the individual sounds are listed below:  
  
1. The Assistant to the Undersecretary of Tourism continued to shriek inside the ragged shuttle pod.  
2. The shuttle pod continued to creak due to the above.  
3. The odd-looking bird in the pretty tree maintained his merry squawking.  
4. Porthos began barking because he saw someone come out of the woods on the far side of the clearing.  
5. That someone was meekly calling out the name, "Nan-n-n-sy!"  
6. He was soon drowned out by a whirring noise, which caused Porthos to bark even louder.  
7. The whirring noise grew more intense and quickly turned into a shuttle pod - the other shuttle pod - which began to land in the meadow.

Malcolm sighed again and handed the pistol back to Travis. He recognized the fellow who was currently being whipped by the landing draft as the Assistant to the Secretary of Technology, Goff Pugh, the supposed love interest of Nansy Pickles. When he had first met him the day before, he had wondered why the man didn't seem overly enthusiastic about their relationship. As it stood now, however...  
  
The shuttle pod touched lightly down as Goff stumbled up to Malcolm and Travis.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said softly, "but have you seen-?"  
  
_"...just wait'll my BLEEP-ing boyfriend gets here!!"_  
  
"Oh, dear," mumbled Goff. "What happened?"  
  
"Well, it's my fault," Travis admitted. "I accident- Hush, Porthos! I accidentally shot her."  
  
"Really?"   
  
Travis nodded his head.  
  
"Wow."  
  
"I'm very sorry."  
  
"I'm sure you didn't mean any harm," Goff said sympathetically. "Everyone makes mistakes..."  
  
"Pardon me, Goff," Malcolm interrupted, "but may I ask just what on earth the two of you are doing out here in the middle of nowhere?"  
  
"Looking for you."  
  
"We figured as much," Malcolm smirked. "Now, why is that?"  
  
"Well, you see, it's like this:"  
  
.................................................  
..............................................  
.................................................  
  
Iambard squeaked.  
  
_I don't like that,_ he thought.   
  
He shifted in his chair and plainly squeaked again.  
  
_I thought I had this thing fixed,_ he puzzled. He then leaned forward, squeaked a third time, and pressed the intercom button.  
  
"Jooly, wasn't the chair man supposed to come by?"  
  
"Which chairman, Sir?"  
  
"The chair _man_ to fix my chair? It's still squeaking."  
  
"You never ordered a chair man, Sir, but I'll send for one right away," she said. "Who would you like?"  
  
"Try for Shaltmore," he said. "If you can't get him, try Keltzman."  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
Truth be told, Doctor Iambard Necessiter, Trendar's beloved Tech-Sec, was tired and still a little foggy after the previous day's attempts to locate some spare plasma relays for the Earthlings. Still pondering the experience, he squeaked for his coffee, then he squeaked for his paper, then, putting his feet up on his desk, he promptly squawked.  
  
"Hmm," Iam thought out loud. He squeaked forwards and buzzed his secretary again. "Jooly, could you tell Goff to come to my office?"  
  
Goff cleared his throat.  
  
"I'm, uh, right here, Sir," he said softly.  
  
"Good God!" Necessiter squeaked loudly. "Never mind, Jooly."  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
"How long have you been sitting there?"  
  
"Since eight, Sir. That's when our meeting was scheduled."  
  
"Oh," Necessiter squeaked. "Well, run along then..."  
  
"Uhhh..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You wanted to see me about something, Sir?"  
  
"What?" he squeaked. "Oh, of course! Goff, do you remember yesterday when we took the aliens to the Penelope Ultra High Tech Storage Facility on Natalie II?"  
  
"Yes, Sir, I was there with you."  
  
"Yes, I thought so," the Secretary squeaked. "And do you remember how Captain Tucker and I spent all day looking for those plasma relays?"  
  
"Commander Tucker," he corrected. "Yes, Sir."  
  
"And how when we finally found them, she said they wouldn't work?"  
  
"He, Sir," Goff corrected. "Yes, Sir."  
  
"_He?_"  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Quite sure, Sir."  
  
"Hmmm... Well, regardless, do you remember how 'he' said they wouldn't work because of the quality of our itinium?"  
  
"Itonium, Sir," Goff corrected. "Yes, Sir."  
  
"And do you remember how I told him that, although we couldn't help, Brim might be able to?"  
  
"No, Sir."  
  
"Brim Plumpy?"  
  
"No, Sir."  
  
"The merchant? Originally from the Chalopy System? Moved here with his family a few years back?"  
  
"No, Sir."  
  
"..."  
  
"When did you mention this particular merchant?" Goff asked.  
  
"I believe...um...let's see," Necessiter squeaked. "We found the relays, Tucker said she couldn't use them, you and Nansy went home, then I took the aliens to dinner... And after dinner, we had drinks, and that's when I told them!"  
  
"I'd gone home by then, Sir." Goff said.  
  
"Then you couldn't possibly know."  
  
"No, Sir."  
  
"Well, I may need you to run an errand for me later," the Secretary squeaked. "I think I may have left out an important detail regarding Mr. Plumpy."  
  
"Certainly Sir."  
  
"You see," Necessiter squeaked slowly back in his chair. "Brim specializes in all kinds of hard-to-find items, and there's a chance that he might have some relays or some high-grade itinium, or more likely, he might know where to get them..."  
  
"I'm sure they were happy to hear that."  
  
"They were," he squeaked, "until I told them that Brim was currently on vacation in the far northwest of Natalie II and virtually unreachable."  
  
"I see."  
  
"But I gave them the general coordinates, and they said they would take one of their hideous runabouts and go look for him this morning."  
  
"And you need me to find them?" Goff asked.  
  
"I think it's for the best..."  
  
"And tell them what, Sir?"  
  
"Oh, yes! Tell them that Brim Plumpy is-"  
  
The intercom beeped.  
  
"I'm sorry to interrupt, Sir," Jooly said, "but the chair man is here."  
  
"The chairman of what?"  
  
"The chair _man_ is here to fix your chair," she said.  
  
"That's great!" Doctor Necessiter squeaked. "Who'd you get?"  
  
"Haarvie Shaltmore."  
  
"_The_ Haarvie Shaltmore?"  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
"Excellent choice, Jooly!"  
  
"Thank you, Sir," she said. "Shall I send him in?"  
  
"By all means!" he squeaked, then he quickly scribbled some coordinates on a Paste-It Note. "Careful out there, Goff. It's monsoon season."  
  
"But, Sir..."  
  
"And, uh, take Nansy with you," he added. "Her translation skills might come in handy."  
  
"But, Sir..."  
  
"I'm sure it'll be alright with Berralack."  
  
"But, Sir..."  
  
"If he gives you any trouble, just let me know."  
  
Before Goff could protest again, Haarvie Shaltmore burst through the double doors and marched up to the desk. Iambard stood and greeted him warmly.  
  
"I'm so glad you could come on such short notice!" he smiled.  
  
"Yes, yes, where is it?" Haarvie demanded.  
  
"Right here."  
  
Haarvie took one look at the chair and let loose a weary sigh.  
  
"Sometimes you people make me sick," he said contemptuously.  
  
.................................................  
..............................................  
.................................................  
  
"And?"  
  
"And I went and picked up Nansy in my runabout, and we flew over here to find you."  
  
"What about Brim Plumpy?"  
  
"Buggerov!" squawked the bird.  
  
"Shut up!" Malcolm yelled. "Well?"  
  
"He didn't say," mumbled Goff.  
  
"You didn't ask?" Travis said. "What if it's important?"  
  
"You don't understand," Goff explained. "He was with Haarvie Shaltmore. The Haarvie Shaltmore?"  
  
They both looked at Goff as if he was completely mad. Goff shrugged.   
  
"I'm sorry to interrupt you three," Hoshi interrupted. "But shouldn't we be getting to the cave?"  
  
"Hello, Hoshi," Malcolm smirked. "It's good to see you, and don't take this the wrong way, but why did T'Pol send you on a rescue mission?"  
  
"Well, I'm supposed to act as translator if we ever find Brim Plump- Is, uh, she alright?" Hoshi whispered, nodding towards the screaming pod.  
  
"She's a bit upset," Malcolm said.  
  
"I accidentally shot her," Travis admitted.  
  
"Really?"  
  
Travis nodded his head.  
  
"Wow."  
  
"Speaking of which," Malcolm said to Goff. "Do you think you could...?" (He thumbed towards the battered shuttle.) "I mean, while the ship is still space-worthy?"  
  
"You want me to go in there?" Goff asked.  
  
"If you don't mind," Malcolm said, then he carefully inquired, "Does she, uh, get like this...often?"  
  
"As shines the sun, so falls the rain," Goff mused quietly. "So falls the rain."  
  
He gathered himself, took a deep breath, and headed towards the open hatch. The three officers glanced at each other briefly before turning just in time to see Ensign Driver step out of the functional shuttle pod. He was followed by Crewmen Jones, Smith, Williams, and Miller, each of whom was carrying a selection of ropes, backpacks, and long-lasting flashlights.  
  
"Did you guys see all those rainbows?" Hoshi asked.  
  
"No," Travis said. "Were they pretty?"  
  
"Unbelievable!" she said. "Though... I think they were a little off... Uhhh, Travis?"  
  
The ensign looked where she pointed - behind him - but didn't see anything. Then he felt the tap on his shoulder. It was Goff - two-fisted, squared-jawed Goff.  
  
"I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to defend yourself," he said meekly.  
  
Travis blinked in disbelief.  
  
"Uhhh," he stammered. "Lieutenant?"  
  
"_Kick his BLEEP-ing ass for him!_" Nansy screeched.  
  
"Squawk squawk tweet Buggerov tweet!" cheered the bird.  
  
"Shut up!" Malcolm yelled, then he turned to Goff. "Look, I appreciate your desire to defend your lady's honour..."  
  
"_Not so tough, now, are you, you BLEEP-ing BLEEPs!_"  
  
"...but, right now," Malcolm continued. "We really need to find our people, not to mention Brim Plumpy, and-"  
  
"Squawk, Buggerov! Squawk! Tweet-a-tweet-a-tweet!"  
  
"Shut up!" Malcolm yelled. "What I'm saying is-"  
  
"Uh, Sir?" Hoshi interrupted.  
  
"Just a moment, Hoshi. What I'm saying is-"  
  
"Sir, that bird just said, 'Come on, Buggerov, Let's have a show then, what!"  
  
"Really, Hoshi, this is no time for-"  
  
She showed him the translation padd.  
  
"No," Malcolm mumbled. "It can't be..."  
  
"_Don't you people understand Chalopan?_" Nansy rasped. "_Do the math! Plumpy's a BLEEP-ing bird!_"  
  
"Better than a bunch of talking monkeys, eh?" Brim joked. "What, what!"  
  
For the moment, however, most of the monkeys were quite speechless.  
  
.................................................  
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....  
..


	6. Fisticuffs and the Squeak of Things To C...

Author Note: Sod the apologies about tardiness, it's happened again. So. Again a heartfelt "thank you!" for all the reviews and comments received. However it is my sad(?) obligation to inform you that we will be returning to regular three dimensional fanfiction for the time being… it was definitely a good idea, but I have not the amount of patience to do it myself.  
Also, one final note: the august Dedicato's still up for the taking if you feel lucky!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
_for the sake of reader clarity, the censoring of nansy pickle's... more colourful language will continue to be in effect until further notice. thank you._  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

**  
  
Chapter 6: Fisticuffs and the Squeak of Things To Come... **

The odd-looking bird - for pedantry's sake, he should really henceforth be known by his proper name, so shall we begin again?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Brim Plumpy was having the time of his life. Not only had he finally managed to catch up with Mister Buggerov and his companions, but he had also managed to stumble (or flap...?) across Nansy Pickles and the other Trendarian she was with (he had yet to decide whether this was a blessing or a curse).

Also - and in his opinion this was probably the best part of the whole situation at talon - Buggerov was silent. _A first time for everything..._

Brim raised a salutary wing towards the small, pale-skinned companion of Buggerov. "Thank you, my lady," he said to her.

She smiled.

"I had begun to ever give up hope of that man quenching his sound."

She grinned, and then tapped a few more times into the device she was holding, then nodded towards him.

"Now," he continued, "shall we have that fight then, hmm?" Had Brim had the same limb-like appendages the others were possessed of, he would have rubbed his hands together in glee. However, all he had at his disposal were a pair of wings, which he hence waved around over his head (this motion has much the same effect in Chalopian society as the aforementioned hand-rubbing exercise, so...).

Beneath him, Buggerov scowled up at him, while the as yet unknown Trendarian swallowed nervously as he stretched out his arms behind him, knuckles audibly cracking in the tense silence. Nansy grinned viciously.

"Can't we just try and... be nice about the whole thing?" the pale companion of Buggerov asked everybody. "I'm sure there's really no need for a fight to be -"

"Actually," the unnamed Trendarian said nervously, "there is. Section Four of the Trendarian Code of Social Conduct, Sub-section Ninety-Eight, Paragraph Seven-B, Line Thirty-Seven states that a challenge issued by a man whose woman has been wronged should be upheld unless mitigating circumstances can be shown to have happened at the time of the incident where the wrong was committed."

Everyone, including Brim, stared at him.

"Er, Goff," Buggerov started nervously. "Your... woman was not... wronged. Ah... nothing actually happened to her."

"You BLEEP-ing shot me, you ghlything -" Nansy was interrupted by 'Goff' placing his hands on her shoulders, saying something that couldn't be heard by anybody else in the motley group assembled. However, she continued nevertheless, although she was no longer shrill; instead, it seemed, she had begun favouring the cool, collected approach to insulting. "I'd BLEEP-ing say that was enough BLEEP-ing reason, you sorry son of a BLEEP."

Before anything else could be said, however, there came from about Buggerov's person the most intriguing (well, it was to Brim) sound of something chirruping. He held up a hand to forestall any more comments from anybody else and withdrew from a part of his uniform a rectangular mechanical device, which he flipped open.

"Go ahead," Buggerov said into it.

"Sir, we've found the doctor and the others, although it's going to take us a while to get them out," a new voice said. "It seems that the captain led the three of them further down into the cave network than we had originally anticipated. The other guys and I have our work cut out."

"Understood, Ensign," Buggerov told the voice. "Reed out." He flipped the device shut, and Brim realised in that instant that the man's name was in fact Reed. But it made no matter. Buggerov seemed to suit his temperament much better than that of a stick.

"Paradise my arse," he muttered quietly, but not so quietly that it couldn't be heard from the tree. "So," he added, speaking at a normal volume again.

Brim was tempted to add, "So what?" but managed to restrain himself, deciding it would be best not to, given the situation at hand (wing).

"Didn't you say mitigating circumstances?" the female asked Goff, clearly in some kind of attempt to forestall any violent occurings.

Goff nodded.

"Well," she continued, "Nan... uh, Ensign Mayweather here was alone and cut off from his... colleagues during a fierce storm. The limited communication he had had with us involved mention of what he interpreted to be... some kind of... some kind of hostile being. And when Ms. Pickles... approached his position, he reacted in the only way that could have been expected of him."

There was an expectant silence in the clearing.

- - - - -  
- - - - -

Iambard tested his chair.

There was nothing.

He tried again, wiggling from side to side, sending both himself and the wheeled chair almost halfway across the highly polished wooden floor.

Still nothing.

Well, thank goodness for that.

Deciding instead for the safer route, Iambard got up off the chair and walked over to his desk (incidentally, made of the same shiny former tree as the floor) and pressed the intercom button.

"Jooly," he said. "Has there been any word from those Sunflitter people yet?"

"Sir?"

"The sunflitter people," Iambard said impatiently. "You know, those people with the hideous blue jumpsuits." _No style. No sense of style whatsoever._

"Starfleet, sir," Jooly told him through the intercom.

"What?"

There was a tinny sigh. "Never mind, sir. What about them?"

"They went off to find that damned Plumpy fellow this morning. Has there been any word from them yet?"

"If there has been then I'm not aware of it."

Iambard sighed. "Find out what's happened to them," he said impatiently. "Any means necessary."

"Yessir." The intercom went dead.

Iambard retrieved his chair and sat back down behind the desk again.

It squeaked.

Iambard sighed.

He reached for the intercom again.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Cap'n?" Trip's voice sounded out of the murky gloom. "Uh, Jon?"

"What?"

"Tell me if I'm bein' facetious here, but we aren't gettin' any nearer to the cave entrance."

Pause. "We're going in the right direction," Jonathan said, sounding annoyed.

"Doc, you got anythin' ta say?"

"No, not at all, Commander," Phlox said, sounding happy enough with the situation. "In actual fact I'm quite enjoying myself. I haven't had a workout this rigorous in quite some time."

"That wasn't exactly the idea, Doctor," the captain said wearily.

"Nevertheless," Phlox continued, "I can't help but wonder what would happen if I introduced some of these insect creatures to a Sickbay environment." His tone was wistful, and implied many possibilities of epidemics of buggy proportions to the chief engineer's mind.

"Maybe another time," Jonathan said forcefully, but before anything else could be said, the three men were temporarily blinded by an unnatural light source coming from somewhere up above them.

"Captain?" a male voice called down, and Trip recognised it as belonging to Crewman Miller. "Commander, Doctor? Is that you down there?"

"What're you doin' up there?" Trip asked him.

Miller sighed, the sound echoing around in the small space. "We're here to find you, sir. Uh, sirs. According to scans we took, you're all going deeper into the cave network." He paused for a second. "I have to let Lieutenant Reed know we've found you."

Back down on the cavern floor, Trip couldn't help himself, and looked in the general direction of his oldest friend. "Told you so."


	7. Paperwork on the Edge of Forever

Is the Dedicato still safe and sound on its mahogany Dedicato shelf? Hmmm...  
  
Thanks to all of our kind reviewers. We're glad you're enjoying the stuff. :D Now on to the next chapter. No 2D effects this time, though. Sorry.   
  
I did include a nice star chart, however.

* * *

_Natalie's Merchant_

* * *

**Chapter 7- Paperwork on the Edge of Forever**

Iambard squeaked.   
  
Phone to ear, he carefully leaned forward, desperately trying not to squeak again. Unfortunately, however...  
  
"No, Mr. Shaltmore," he squeaked. "I'm not implying that at all. I'm not implying _anything_."  
  
"... ..... ....!"  
  
"Yes, I understand. It's just that-"  
  
".... .... .... .. .. ..... .. .. .... ... ...!"  
  
"There no need to get personal," Iambard squeaked. "My weight is my concern, isn't it?"  
  
".... ..... .. ... .... .. ... .....!"  
  
"I suppose it might squeak less if I did lose a few, but that's not going to happen overnight."  
  
Just then, there came a knock on the door, followed by the door opening, followed by Jooly and her Look of Urgency. Dr. Necessiter never liked to see that look. He tried to pretend he didn't notice.  
  
"I'm speaking with the chair man," he said, cupping the receiver. "Is it urgent?"  
  
She replayed her Look for him.   
  
"Alright, alright," he sighed. "Listen, um, Mr. Shaltmore? I'm afraid I'm going to have to let you go. Something's come up."  
  
"... ..... ... ... .... ... .... ... ... ... ....-!"  
  
"Oh, get over yourself already," he said with a click. "So now, Jooly, what's the matter?"  
  
"The aliens, Sir!"  
  
"Oh my God!" he squeaked in disbelief. "I just hung up on Haarvie Shaltmore! _The_ Haarvie Shaltmore!"  
  
"That's not important right now, Sir!"  
  
"Easy for you to say," he squeaked. "Your chair's fine."  
  
"No, no," she implored. "The aliens! The police just called. There's been an incident!"  
  
"Incident?" he squeaked. "What kind of incident?"  
  
"One of the aliens shot Nansy Pickles!"  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Wow."  
  
After a moment's reflection, he continued, "Well, Goff's young, and there's still plenty of fish in the sea... I'm sure he- Jooly, why is there a press-bot hovering outside my window?"   
  
The press-bot moved a bit to the left, zoomed in, then flashed five or six quick pictures of the ever-so-slightly nonplussed Necessiter.  
  
"That's what I've been trying to tell you," she stressed, then she picked up the remote control and turned on his stellavision. "See for yourself, Sir. It's all over the news!"  
  
On the screen before them, an unseen press-bot looked down through a high flying swarm of ten or so _seen_ press-bots, below and beyond which was the well-manicured estate of Oskar Pickles. As the bots jockeyed for position, the newswoman's voice spoke in the background.  
  
"Alright, we have a few corrections to make... Um... Oskar Pickles is fine. I repeat, Oskar Pickles is uninjured."  
  
With that, the news director returned to the studio, though the estate remained in a small box in the upper corner of the screen. The newswoman spoke again.  
  
"For those of you just tuning in, we recently reported that Oskar Pickles was killed by an obsessive fan, when in actuality, Oskar Pickles' _daughter_ was killed by an obsessive-"  
  
A small inside press-bot suddenly flew past the woman and dropped off a piece of paper.  
  
"Ok... Stay with us, folks," she encouraged. "Oskar Pickles' daughter was _not _killed by an obsessive fan, she was, in fact, killed by a... Ok, it appears that she's only been critically injured, and- Hold on."  
  
She held her finger to her ear.  
  
"Ok, I've just been told that we have the 9-1-1-1 tape. Is it ready? Ok, here is the actual 9-1-1-1 call that Nansy Pickles made right before being shot. What? Right _after_ being shot. By what we believe were aliens. Possibly alien fans. Let's listen..."  
  
Jooly and Iambard looked on in horror. Without realizing it, they held hands. The screen changed to the image of an old tape recorder with the words, "Nansy Pickles' 9-1-1-1 Call" written across the middle. Then shrieking was heard.  
  
**9-1-1-1 Operator:** _9-1-1-1. What is your emergency?_  
  
**Pickles:** _Hello??  
_  
**9-1-1-1 Operator:** _What is your emergency please?_  
  
**Pickles:** _I'll tell you what my emergency is - I nearly got BLEEP-ing vaporized by an alien! That's what my BLEEP-ing emergency is!_  
  
**9-1-1-1 Operator:** _Is the perpetrator still in the house?  
_  
**Pickles:** _I'm not in a BLEEP-ing house, ok?_  
  
**9-1-1-1 Operator:** _Try to calm down, Ma'am. Where are you calling from?  
_  
**Pickles:** _From inside a BLEEP-ity BLEEP-ing BLEEP!_  
  
**9-1-1-1 Operator:** _Excuse me?_  
  
**Pickles:** _Look, I'm on Natalie II in the Samantha region. I don't know where exactly, because I let Goff BLEEP-ing drive!  
_  
**9-1-1-1 Operator:** _Ok, hang on. We'll triangulate your position._  
  
**Pickles:** _BLEEP._  
  
**9-1-1-1 Operator:** _Ma'am? We've located your position, and we're sending help right away.  
_  
**Pickles:** _Thank you. You hear that?? I've called the cops!! And pretty soon you guys are gonna be is some BLEEP-ity BLEEP! And I'm not BLEEP-ing kidding!_

As it was soon obvious that Nansy was still very much alive and well, both Necessiter and his secretary relaxed somewhat and breathed a sigh of relief. The doctor clicked off his stellavision, and it was at this point that he suddenly realized he was holding hands with his secretary. Iambard's cheeks turned a rosy red as he quickly let go; Jooly, however, lingered for a moment then sadly turned away.  
  
"What's the matter?" he squeaked. "Nansy's fine."  
  
"It's not that. It's just..."  
  
"Jooly?"  
  
Unable to bear the strain any longer, she burst into tears and stood sobbing before him. Iambard squeaked up from his chair and took her in his arms.  
  
"There, there," he soothed. "It's alright. It's- You know, your eyes... I- I never realized how lovely they were before..."  
  
"Really?" she sobbed. "Do you really mean it?"  
  
"They're like two sapphires..."  
  
"Emeralds," she sniffled.  
  
"They're like two emeralds...glistening in the morning suns," he lamented. "Oh, Jooly..."  
  
"Oh, Iambard!" she cried.  
  
And with that, the two embraced for a music-swelling cinematic kiss, except there was no music, and the only cameras belonged to the growing party of press-bots outside Necessiter's window. Of course, their flashing bulbs were sort of like exploding fireworks, so...

.......  
.......  
.......

**Pickles' Daughter Shot By Alien**

ISABELLA, Natalie (AP) - The daughter of famed food stylist Oskar Pickles was shot early Wynsday afternoon by an alien from the planet Earth. Nansy Pickles, 24, was assaulted in the Samantha region of northwest Natalie II while on a diplomatic mission with a colleague.   
  
The incident occurred shortly after 2 PM when Pickles entered the aliens' campsite and approached their makeshift craft. According to official reports, Ms. Pickles called out to the person or persons inside the craft and was immediately shot with what police are calling an energy-based weapon.  
  
"From what we know of the pistol so far, things could have turned out much, much worse," said Detective Frank Cheekie of the Isabella Police Department. "The device appears to have two settings: one kills you, the other one doesn't."   
  
Detective Cheekie went on to describe the weapon as being crudely fashioned.  
  
"We're still running some tests," he told reporters at the 5 PM press conference. "But judging from the looks of it, I'm surprised the thing hasn't blown up in our hands. As far as I'm concerned, Ms. Pickles is lucky to be alive."  
  
Pickles, who suffered only minor injuries in the attack, works as the Assistant to the Undersecretary of Tourism. She spoke briefly with reporters after being released from Millicent Mercy Hospital late this afternoon.  
  
"Goff (Pugh) and I had gotten separated, but I didn't think anything about it because the place is just such a paradise, you know? Well, I kept going and found the camp, and I ran up to their- God, I hate to call it a ship, but I guess I'll have to. Anyways, I ran up to their 'ship' and that guy was standing right in the door, and the next thing I knew I was waking up inside the thing with these two goons leering over me."  
  
Pickles went on to say that she immediately ordered the aliens out of the vessel and then phoned police.  
  
"You can tell on the 9-1-1-1 tape that I was pretty upset," she said. "But who wouldn't be? I mean, the (expletive deleted) bastards had just shot me, and not only that, they ruined my Les Cretal rainslicker!"   
  
"Do you know how long I had to wait just to get on the list for one of these things?" she said, holding up the coat. "Now look at it. It's completely (expletive deleted)!"  
  
Sergeant Tod Peppier of the Isabella Police Department was the responding officer and described the scene as "chaotic."  
  
"My partner and I arrived shortly after 3 PM, and the whole place looked like a tornado had hit it," he said at today's press conference. "Since we didn't know who was who at the time, we handcuffed everybody then sorted things out from there. It took us about thirty minutes to figure out that the guy on the ground was actually the suspect."  
  
The shooter, Ensign Travas Mariwether from the planet Earth, was taken by ambulance to Millicent Mercy Hospital and is currently being treated under armed guard. He was injured after Pickles' colleague and boyfriend, Goff Pugh, exercised his rights under Section Four of the Trendarian Code of Social Conduct.   
  
"I tried to be as gentle with him as I could," he later told reporters. "But I guess (Mariwether) was more fragile than he looked."  
  
Pugh, who is best known for winning three gold medals in the Thrashing event at the 2928 O'lympix, works as the Assistant to the Secretary of Technology. He went on to say that, even though he was well within his rights under Section Four, he thought the shooting was an accident.  
  
"I know that the press will have a field day with this unfortunate incident," Pugh stated. "But I'd just like to let everyone know that the Earthlings really seem like decent people. How would you or I feel wandering about open space in such poorly designed craft? I think the fellow had reached his wits' end and simply acted on impulse."  
  
Other members of the government, however, are less sympathetic and have used this incident to speak out about the issue of alien rights. Senator Dense Lysting (R) from Elizabeth has called for an investigation into the matter, as well as for a review of the Alien Welcoming Act of 2936.   
  
"We are either terribly optimistic or terribly naive to think that all new species will come here just to take vacations," he addressed reporters this afternoon. "If you'll remember, I voted against the AWA because I thought the Tourism Department was ill-equipped to handle such important matters of state."  
  
He went on to say that stricter rules need to be implemented with regards to first contacts.  
  
"Right now, we pretty much let aliens come and go as they please. After what happened today, though, I think the legislature is going to have to make some tough decisions. We will eventually have to face up to the fact that not every species is going to be as friendly as the Chalopans or Olivantians. Warp technology has brought many good things to Trendar in the past five years, but it has also brought some sobering questions that the President and the Congress can no longer ignore."  
  
Along with the suspect, police are detaining at least two other aliens at this time. Though Detective Frank Cheekie declined to release their names, he did say that they were cooperating with authorities.  
  
"I think it's pretty clear that the shooter (Mariwether) acted alone," he said at today's conference. "We just brought these two in for questioning. They'll be released as soon as we've finished our investigation."  
  
Detective Cheekie went on to say that he didn't know what the aliens were doing in Natalie II, and the DOT's official report has revealed few clues.  
  
Records indicate that the aliens entered orbit yesterday shortly after making first contact at 10:37 AM XST. They then landed at the Alien Welcome Center in the capitol around noon where they were greeted by Ms. Pickles in accordance with her duties at the Tourism Department.   
  
The report goes on to describe the aliens' interest in refined itonium which was addressed personally by Secretary of Technology, Dr. Iambard Necessiter. Although unavailable for direct comment, Dr. Necessiter released a statement via his secretary a short time ago.  
  
"The Earthlings whom I met yesterday seemed like reasonable people," he wrote. "But from what I've seen of their design work, I don't know how they made it this far out in space."  
  
"Quite frankly, it looks like they build their spaceships from tin cans and bits of string. That's why they came here in the first place: they were looking for spare parts. I think they could be some sort of space gypsies."  
  
Indeed, there may be some truth to this conjecture as witnessed by Sergeant Peppier, who later described the crime scene in greater detail.  
  
"I don't know whether these are good people or not," he told reporters. "I try to keep an open mind. But that campsite was a disaster area. Those people had trash scattered around everywhere outside their 'ship'. I don't care who you are or where you're from, I just don't see how you can live like that."  
  
As of this printing, none of the aliens were available for comment.  
  
Earth, which is located in the Rachel Sector, is approximately 400 light years away (see map) and is believed to be a desert planet.

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.......  
.......  
.......

"Miller?"  
  
"Dead."  
  
"Williams?"  
  
"Dead."  
  
"Jones?"  
  
"Dead, Sir."  
  
"Smith?"  
  
"Dead."  
  
"Driver?"  
  
"Dead, Sir."  
  
"Trip?"  
  
"Deader'n a doornail."  
  
"Wonderful."  
  
The men were standing in complete and total darkness. The fresh flashlights that the rescuers had brought with them had gone dead. Their backup flashlights had gone dead. Their communicators, which could have been used to call for reserve backup flashlights, had gone dead. Though they weren't as deep in the cave as when they started, they were still quite far from the surface.  
  
"How can everything we have be dead?" the captain griped.  
  
"There's gotta be somethin' down here that's drainin' our energy," Trip guessed out loud. "There's just no other explanation for it."  
  
"Could be," Archer mused. "Phlox, how about your scanner?"  
  
...  
  
"Phlox?"  
  
...  
  
"Not again," the captain moaned. After a long and Phlox-less moment, he addressed the darkness. "Ok, I don't want anybody to move from this spot. Is that clear?"  
  
The group gave a collective "yes, sir."  
  
"The plan is this: we're going to wait here until either Enterprise sends another rescue team, or they get some help from the Trendarians. Is that clear?"  
  
The group gave another collective "yes, sir."  
  
"Driver, why don't you take a water inventory?" Trip suggested.  
  
"Yes, Sir," he said.  
  
As Ensign Driver began taking stock of their water rations, Commander Tucker pulled Archer aside.  
  
"Cap'ain, what're we gonna do about Phlox? We can't just leave him wanderin' around down here by himself... All alone..."  
  
"I don't see that we have a choice," the captain whispered. "As a matter of fact, I don't see much of _anything_."  
  
"Well, how's about we all yell for him?" Trip suggested.   
  
"I guess it's the least we can do," Archer relented. "Ok, now listen everybody... On three, we're going to yell for Phlox... Ready? One... Two..."  
  
"I'm right here, Captain!"  
  
Hisss...  
  
"Thanks for rejoining us," Archer grumped.  
  
"Certainly!" Phlox said, missing the captain's sarcasm altogether. The doctor then turned his bug on its back, shedding a modest light on the party.  
  
Hissssss!  
  
"Doctor," Jonathan said calmly. "For future's sake, don't wander off without letting someone know about it. That's an order."  
  
"I do apologize, Captain," he said. "But since our lights were failing so rapidly, I thought I should go retrieve some more...some more of nature's own!"  
  
With that, Phlox reached into his pockets and began handing out bugs to each of the men.   
  
"Turn them on their backs," he instructed as he went. "Yes, that's it!"  
  
"Mine's not working, Doc," Jones said.  
  
"Just, ahh, jiggle him a bit, Crewman."  
  
Hissss-s-s-S-S-S-S-S-S-S!  
  
"Thanks, Doc!"  
  
"Captain? Bug?"  
  
Hisssssss!  
  
"Alright," Archer sighed. "Good job, Doctor."  
  
"Thank you, Captain!" Phlox grinned. "Commander?"  
  
Hisssssss!  
  
"Uh... No thanks," he said. "We've got enough light already."  
  
"Why, Commander! You're not afraid of bugs, are you?"  
  
Hisssssssss!  
  
"No," he said. "_No_. I just think I should have both my hands free... In case somebody slips or somethin'... I could catch 'em. Yeah. I could catch 'em!"  
  
"Or perhaps you can, ahh, fend off Injun Joe?" Phlox said literally. "Since he might be lurking behind a rock down here somewhere, ha!"  
  
Hissssss!  
  
"Very funny."  
  
"I didn't know you were into old Earth literature, Phlox!" Jonathan smiled.  
  
"I've found that you can learn a lot about a species from what they read," he said. "And the longer a book stays in a culture's canon, the more valuable a tool it becomes for outsiders."  
  
"I can see that..."  
  
"How about you, Captain? Have you read any of the Denobulan classics? 'Ebon Clavus'? or perhaps, 'Shlin to Prolos?'"  
  
"Well, you know, I've, uhh, been meaning to..."  
  
Hisssssss!  
  
"Oh, that's quite all right, Captain," Phlox beamed. "You can learn a lot about a species from what they don't read as well!"  
  
"Uh-huh," the captain hemmed. "I suppose you couldn't lend me a copy of Ebo-?"  
  
"'Ebon Clavus'," Phlox assisted. "Certainly! I'd be glad to!"  
  
Hissssssss!  
  
"Thanks," Jonathan said. "Ok, people, let's, uhh, shake our bugs and get the hell out of here."  
  
And so, with much hissing, the team started out again for the ever-elusive exit. High above them, above the cave and the trees, above the mountains and the clouds, above the very sky itself, above the last hint of rarefied air before nothingness smothered all living things, there was a ship. And on this ship was a Vulcan.   
  
Neglected lo these many chapters, isolated far from any action, so very limited in her fanfic duties- a phrase here, a sentence there - her time had finally come.  
  
This chapter concludes with the story of her day, told mostly in her own words, dry though they may be. By all accounts and comparisons, it was a dull one: she weathered no storm, she fired no weapon, she cracked no nut, but still...   
  
It was her day and no one else's. 

The time is 7 PM.

She has just ended her shift.

.....  
.....  
.....

Alone in her peacefully quiet quarters, T'Pol lit a meditation candle and took it to her bathroom. With the sound of running water in the background, she quickly returned and moved to her computer console. Scrolling to the file marked "6-28-52", she pressed "play" and began to disrobe.

Science Officer's log, June 28, 2152.

Zero six hundred hours: I reported for duty on the bridge.

Six thirty-four: Captain Archer placed me in command, then he, Commander Tucker, Lieutenant Reed, Ensign Mayweather, and Doctor Phlox departed for the surface to search for the merchant.

Seven eleven: Admiral Forrest contacted Enterprise and inquired about the quarterly crew evaluation reports. I stated that I was under the assumption they had already been completed. He said that there were no records to support my claim, and I told him that I would look into the matter and respond to him directly.

Seven fifteen: I entered the captain's ready room and found the untouched reports beneath a stack of out-dated "Water Polo Weekly" magazines. I contacted Admiral Forrest and told him that the evaluations had yet to be completed and that I would remind the captain as soon as he returned. Admiral Forrest stated that he needed them for his report to Starfleet which was due this afternoon. He strongly suggested that I fill them out and transmit them as soon as possible.

Seven twenty: I began filling out the quarterly crew evaluation reports.

Eight twenty-two: After completing evaluations through the letter D, I went to the mess hall for some tea then proceeded to the armory and found two unused auxiliary access panels that were approximate in dimension to my design. I removed the panels to my quarters before returning to the captain's ready room and resuming work on the quarterly crew evaluation reports.

Nine twenty-seven: Admiral Forrest contacted Enterprise to inquire on the status of the quarterly crew evaluation reports. I informed him that I was up to the G's and that I would contact him when all the reports were completed.

Nine forty-four: Ensign Sato detected a storm in the area of the landing party. This was soon confirmed by Ensign Mayweather who contacted Enterprise from the shuttle pod on the surface. He went on to say that the other members of the landing party had not returned to the shuttle. Before conducting a sensor sweep to find the rest of the crew, I urged the ensign to remain calm then ordered him to retrieve the captain's pet.

Ten fifteen: Enterprise's sensors could not determine the exact location of the rest of the landing party, but their life signs were stable. I decided not to risk Shuttle Pod B, reasoning that they had taken refuge in a cave. I informed Ensign Mayweather of the situation and again encouraged him to remain calm. I then returned to the captain's ready room to work on the quarterly crew evaluation reports.

Eleven twenty-one: Admiral Forrest contacted Enterprise to inquire on the status of the quarterly crew evaluation reports. I informed him that I was up to the K's and that I would contact him when all the reports were completed.

Twelve hundred hours: I went to the mess hall for a salad then proceeded to engineering where I was able to find a tube of water-proof silicone sealant. I removed the sealant to my quarters before returning to the captain's ready room and resuming my work on the quarterly crew evaluation reports.

Thirteen ten: Enterprise received a garbled message from Doctor Necessiter saying that he had earlier dispatched his assistant and his assistant's partner to help with the search for the merchant and that they should be arriving soon. He then suggested that Ensign Sato's skills might be required, because he wasn't sure if his assistant's partner spoke Chalopan. I informed him that I would send Ensign Sato to the surface as soon as the weather allowed. I tried to contact Ensign Mayweather to inform him of this development, but I am unsure if the message was received due to storm interference.

Thirteen thirty-nine: Admiral Forrest contacted Enterprise to inquire on the status of the quarterly crew evaluation reports. I informed him that I was up to the P's and that I might work more efficiently with fewer interruptions.

Fourteen hundred hours: I received a transmission from Lieutenant Reed informing me that Doctor Phlox was lost in a cave and that Captain Archer and Commander Tucker were searching for him. He requested a rescue team comprising of Crewmen Jones, Smith, Miller, and Williams, after which his transmission became unintelligible. I urged him to remain calm and proceeded to organize the party which included Ensigns Driver and Sato. Shuttle pod 2 departed at 13:58 hours.

Fourteen forty-two: Enterprise was contacted by Ambassador Soval from the Vulcan High Command. He stated that Admiral Forrest had requested that he speak with me and inquire on the status of the quarterly crew evaluation reports. I requested that Ambassador Soval remind the admiral that I had other duties in addition to filling out Captain Archer's quarterly crew evaluation reports, and that it was illogical for him to assume that I would work faster with constant inquiries regarding their status.

Fourteen forty-five: I went to the mess hall for some more tea then proceeded to the captain's quarters where I was able to find a rubberized ball belonging to the captain's pet. I removed the ball to my quarters and placed it in the drain hole where it fit perfectly. I then returned to the captain's ready room to finish the quarterly crew evaluation reports.

Fifteen hundred hours: Lieutenant Reed contacted me from the surface and informed me that the rescue party had found Captain Archer, Commander Tucker, and Doctor Phlox. He also informed me that he had located the merchant, after which the transmission was interrupted by more interference. I made a note to try to determine the cause of the interference as it could no longer be the storm, since it ended some time ago.

Fifteen thirty: I completed the quarterly crew evaluation reports.

Fifteen thirty-four: I enlisted Ensign Reynolds to assist me with the installation of the two auxiliary access panels in my quarters. After fastening them into an "L" shape, we installed the assembly across the bottom of my shower stall. I then applied the silicone and sealed the edges of the panel assembly to the shower walls and floor. Ensign Reynolds inquired if I was building a bath tub, and I quickly reminded her that bath tubs are not allowed due to their wasteful nature. I stated in no uncertain terms that this was a Vulcan Meditation Pool, and she seemed satisfied.

Sixteen twenty-three: Admiral Forrest contacted Enterprise demanding to know the status of the quarterly crew evaluation reports. He went on to say that if they were not received by seventeen hundred hours, there would be "hell to pay". I urged him to remain calm and assured him that the quarterly crew evaluation reports would be transmitted on time.

Sixteen fifty-nine: I transmitted the quarterly crew evaluation reports to Admiral Forrest.

Seventeen eleven: Admiral Forrest contacted Enterprise and demanded to know why the quarterly crew evaluation reports were written in Vulcan. I told him that, due to their urgency and my lack of time to complete them, I chose Vulcan because I could work faster. I apologized for the inconvenience and suggested that Vulcan High Command could assist him with the translation.

Eighteen twenty-five: Having received no word from the landing party in over four hours, I debated attempting to contact them. I decided against this action, however, as Doctor Necessiter had reported that this particular merchant was always somewhat deliberate in his dealings. If there has been no communication by morning, I will reconsider this decision.

Nineteen hundred hours: I ended my thirteen hour shift and transferred the overnight command to Ensign Reynolds. I instructed her to consult me only in the case of an emergency. I then left the bridge and returned to my quarters.

T'Pol pressed the "stop" button and stood. With the slightest of sighs, she looked down at her socks and knew them to be the last obstacle of the day. They taunted her.  
  
She tried to will them off but finally just bent and pulled at the ankles. Vanquished, the socks fell to the floor.  
  
Grabbing a towel and a small box, T'Pol moved to her bathroom. Quite barely, she stood before the nearly filled Vulcan Meditation Pool and shook in some Vulcan Meditation Salts, which produced a good number of white, Vulcan Meditation Bubbles.   
  
Finally, she turned off the tap, tested the water, then eased herself fully into the depths where she slowly leaned back, exhaled deeply, closed her eyes, and proceeded to...  
  
The comm chirped.  
  
...soak.  
  
The comm chirped again.   
  
T'Pol ignored it.  
  
The comm chirped a third time and was now accompanied by a voice.   
  
"Hello? Is anybody there? Maybe I'm not pushing the right button... Hello? Testing, one, two... Hello?"  
  
The faucet dripped.  
  
T'Pol opened her eyes and sat up just far enough for her sudsy fingers to find the comm button.  
  
"This is Sub-commander T'Pol," she said calmly. "To whom am I speaking?"  
  
"Well, Ma'am, my name's William, but my friends call me Billy. You can call me Billy if you want. Not that I'm saying that we're friends, which wouldn't be bad at all. I just wouldn't want you to think I was being presumptuous or anything..."  
  
The faucet dripped.   
  
"William," T'Pol asked calmly. "Do you have a rank?"  
  
"Yes, Ma'am," he said. "Crewman, 2nd Class."  
  
"And do you have a last name?"  
  
"Yes, Ma'am. Dithers, Ma'am."  
  
"Very well, Crewman Dithers, may I ask why you have chosen to introduce yourself to me at this particular time?"  
  
"Well, Ma'am, there's this ship outside that's asking permission to dock, and I don't know which buttons to push for the docking clamps. And even if I did, I'm not sure I should be letting him hook up to us in the first place, because you never know about aliens. Not that I'm prejudiced or anything..."  
  
The faucet dripped.  
  
"From where are you calling, Crewman Dithers?" she asked calmly.  
  
"The bridge, Ma'am."  
  
"Where is Ensign Reynolds?" she asked calmly.  
  
"She's with Ensign Higgins, Ma'am."  
  
"And where is Ensign Higgins?" she asked calmly.  
  
"Well, he's with- I mean, they said they had to go down to engineering and count the warp cores or something. They said they'd be back in about thirty minutes."  
  
"I see."  
  
"Tommy... I mean, Ensign Higgins... He told me to come up here and look after things while they were gone."  
  
"I see."  
  
"Ma'am, I usually work down in the laundry room. I'm in charge of ironing? I don't mind telling you - I think I'm a little bit in over my head here."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What should I do about this ship that wants to dock?"  
  
T'Pol thought for a moment, then she thought for a moment more, then she eased herself back beneath the Vulcan Meditation Bubbles.  
  
The faucet dripped.  
  
"Ma'am? What should I-?"  
  
"Tell the ship," T'Pol soaked flatly, "that we are closed. Suggest to them that they try again tomorrow."  
  
"Yes, Ma'am," he said.  
  
The comm fell silent, and T'Pol sank deeper into her Vulcan Meditation Pool. With her nose just above the waterline, she stared down at her toes for a moment, then with some hesitation she closed her eyes.  
  
The faucet dripped.  
  
She peeked up at the menacing comm.  
  
The faucet dripped.  
  
Finally, she submerged beneath the warming waters, disappearing for a long moment before returning with a muted splash, her hair thoroughly drenched, Vulcan Meditation Suds adorning her head like a bubbly crown.  
  
The comm chirped.  
  
T'Pol muttered something in Vulcan, then she wiped her eyes and wearily pressed the button.  
  
"This is T'Pol," she sighed.  
  
"I'm sorry to bother you again, Ma'am, but this guy says it's important."  
  
"Was he any more specific?" she dripped flatly.  
  
"Yes, Ma'am," Dithers began. "He said that right before Reed and that pretty pale girl got hauled off in the police cruiser, she yelled up to him and asked him if he wouldn't care to get in touch with you and tell you that the captain and the others never did turn up, and that Travis had shot some hysterical woman whose name he couldn't remember, and that her boyfriend had kicked Travis' ass. I'm sorry, Ma'am, I'm paraphrasing. He talked kinda fast. Anyways... He said that she said to tell you that Travis had been taken away in an ambulance, and that her and Reed were being hauled off to jail and that you would know what to do or would come bail them out or something."  
  
Dithers drew a charging breath.  
  
"Oh, and one more thing," he continued. "Seems kinda funny now that I think of it. I mean, it seems like it would be the first thing you'd tell somebody, you know? I'm sorry, I'm just rambling. This fella on the ship? Well, he's kind of a funny-looking bird. Really freaked me out. I'm sure you're used to stuff like that though. Not that I haven't seen a talking bird before. My uncle used to have this parrot called Hambone. He could talk. But you couldn't really carry on a conversation with him, you know what I mean?"  
  
The faucet dripped.  
  
"Ma'am?"  
  
Crewman Dithers' feathery revelations fell on dying bubbles and watery footprints, because Sub-commander T'Pol was already halfway down the corridor, dressing as she went. She stumbled, tugged, and buttoned - all with measured aplomb - with her boots in one hand and a desperate towel in the other. Pretty much together in all of thirty seconds, she sprinted calmly towards the turbolift, refusing to think more than twice about her hair.

* * *

.  
.  
.

* * *


	8. All the eddycation in the universe

__

Author Note: And once again, a thank you for the lovely reviews. A few clues, I believe, are in order for the Dedicato name-guessing. He's male, I'm female. Neither of us have named anything in this piece of fiction after ourselves ie: neither or us are called Nansy or Natalie etc.

That said, enjoy chapter 8. . .  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

****

Chapter 8: All the eddy-cation in the universe. . .

"Alright, children, who can tell me the second rule in the Code of Social Conduct? Ferenna?"

"The second rule of the Code of Conduct is to be extra nice to everyone around you, especially aliens, because they can't help it if they're ugly."

"Excellent, Ferenna! Now, who can tell me the first part of the seventh rule? Shirn?"

Wafts of voices drifted through the window of the Claudia Detention Centre where, in the West Wing, two Starfleet officers sat docilely (well, docilely isn't quite accurate, but it fits the desired image...) in Detention Room One-C.

The room itself was not that bad; it was of a decent enough size for the two of them to be able to move around with minimal discomfort; the wide pink-stained glass window allowed lots of sunlight to come in, and the decor inside was both imaginative and well-applied - of course, this assumes that the designer hired for the job was, say, three years old with acute attention deficit disorder and a peculiar twitch in the painting arm.

Malcolm Reed and Hoshi Sato sat on bright yellow poufes in one corner, the latter with a blank expression on her face, and the former with a set scowl on his.

They had both taken to half-closing their eyes in Room One-C so as not to be blinded or nauseated by the never-ending swirls of luminescent pink, lilac, yellow and orange that followed each other around each of the four walls (and the ceiling, and the floor, and the door...), and every so often one or the other of them would make a single acerbic comment or short, brief conversations before resuming the unspoken pact of silence.

"Did you hear that?" Malcolm asked eventually.

"Hear what?" Hoshi asked in reply, for all intents and purposes looking as though she was fast asleep.

"That," he said. "Who on earth decided to put a bloody school next to somewhere like this?"

"Wouldn't know," Hoshi replied nonchalantly. "Ask the architect."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Malcolm replied darkly.

However, before Hoshi could form any kind of response, the bright yellow door swung open to reveal one of the brightly-bedecked sergeants who had conducted the Starfleet officers' questioning. "Lieutenant Reed?" he asked in one of the most nasal voices either human had ever heard. "If you could come back with us, we've got a few more questions to ask, then you and you accom- friend are free to go."

Malcolm continued to scowl as he was led down fuschia corridors and into the contrastingly drab, grey questioning room that he had been in before. He continued to scowl as the sergeant sat down opposite him and began to ruffle his paperwork yet again. He contin... well, he threatened to erupt when the opening question was:

"Once again, Mister Reed, where were you at the exact moment Ms Pickles was assaulted?"

He would later be at least fairly proud that the scowl never left his face once.

- - - - -  
- - - - -

"I could have sworn this wasn't the way we came in."

In the near-darkness of the, there was an exasperated sigh. "Cap'n?"

"Yeah?"

"Never, ever try takin' us through caves again."

"Why not?"

A third voice. "Commander Tucker's request is quite legitimate, Captain. Although I must admit that I had not been previously aware that underground cave networks could go so much further underground."

Another sigh. "I appreciate the input, Phlox, but not this time, okay?"

The second voice piped up again. "Hey, Ensign, how much further have we got left ta go?"

"Just another twenty metres, sir."

A small pause, unless anyone watching (or listening) counted the sounds of seven or eight men scrabbling along loose rock faces and trying not to trip (too many times) over small boulders, rocks and other stone-like appendages that happened to be sticking out of the passage's walls and floor.

"Y'know," the second voice said presently, "I was just wonderin'."

"You were wondering _what_, Trip?"

Small pause. "Y'think we missed anythin' goin' on outside while we were down here?"

There was a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. "I doubt it, Trip. Let's just get out of here."

"Don't lead the way, Cap'n!"

"Very funny."

- - - - -  
- - - - -

In the Millicent Mercy Hospital on Natalie II, a number of patients from the kiddies' wing had heard about the alien being treated in Bethany Wing under armed guard. In fact, most of the people in the hospital had heard about it, but the Trendarian youngsters were the only people brave (or perhaps foolish) enough to actually go take a peek.

"He's..." A small girl with both arms in (pink and yellow) slings tried in vain to find the word she knew existed but couldn't quite recall (well, she was only six, and her older brother had always been the brainy one of the family).

A boy next to her snorted, dislodging the bandages that wrapped up part of his left ear. "He's ugly."

"Yeah!" the girl exclaimed. "That's what I meant!"

A slightly older girl on her other side leaned a little further up against the Trendarian version of the glass partition. She pointed. "What's that?" she whispered.

As one, the whole gaggle of children leaned against the glass equivalent, trying to figure out what exactly this new eyesore was, or could possibly be. Eventually, the first little girl answered the question. "I think that's his hair."

A collective "Eeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwww!" rose up from the gaggle.

Inside the room, Travis Mayweather was unaware of the spectator sport currently entering its second round just the other side of the wall. Had he been aware of the children, he would have probably been more than a little BLEEP-ed off about it. As it was, however, he had to settle for trying to make conversation with the doctor and two armed personnel who had been assigned to "contain" him (the fact that he was strapped to the hospital bed apparently didn't make the blindest bit of difference to Millicent's deprived security staff).

So far, he had gathered the following facts:

-- Doctor Glynis Necessiter was the sister-in-law of the Secretary of Technology, Iambard. She was born on Natalie, and had moved to Natalie II upon graduating from the Juliette School of Medical Thinkers, Doers and Pragmatists.

-- Security Guy 1 wasn't much of a talker.

-- Security Guy 2 wasn't much of a talker, either, but occasionally he called his phase gun "Marella", and whispered to it/her in loving, tender tones.

At one point, the technician in charge of adapting medical equipment to properly monitor aliens had come in. Travis had taken to her immediately, namely because she had calmly told Doctor Necessiter, Security Guy 1 and Security Guy 2 to get out while she worked on the biomonitors because she didn't like to work with an audience.

She had introduced herself rather curtly as Merinda Ervens, and had then proceeded to attack one of the machines hooked up to Travis. However, before he could protest about the fact that he could probably die if she did something completely outlandish to the equipment, Merinda had begun to huff and puff (although she did not blow the hospital down).

"I can't believe this (she began). I was top in my class at Eloise Tech School. I worked for Haarvie Shaltmore himself when his cousin from the next star system along came here for nose correction surgery. I work for important people! And they expect me to demean myself to this..."

Complaints notwithstanding, she completed the work in a good amount of time, and finally (and grudgingly) allowed the medic and security staff (not forgetting Marella) to come back in. She then flounced off down the corridor amidst dark comments about having to make sure an alien was kept alive.

The junior sport taking place outside had reached the semi-finals by this time as well, with the two-slinged girl and another little boy with something stuck up his nose currently trying to see who had the most to say about the "poor, poor alien". They had decided to take pity on the alien for the simple reason that anybody that ugly couldn't possibly have had a happy life.

Back inside...

Doctor Necessiter's beeper beeped (well, it would hardly chirp...) and she read the message.

"Meriweather," she began."

"Mayweather, ma'am."

"Excuse me?"

"My name. It's Mayweather. May. Weather."

"Fine, whatever. You've been granted bail, Meriweather."

"..."

"Once you've been given a clean bill of health, you're free to go, providing you stay at least thirty metres away from Nansy Pickles at all times."

Travis didn't trust himself to say anything to that, so he remained silent.

Instead, he asked: "Who granted the bail?"

Necessiter said nothing, but instead she indicated the room's door with her head. Twisting his head around as far as the restraints would allow, Travis caught a brief glimpse of his benefactor before the muscles in his neck made him turn back again.

Perched on top of the door, Brim Plumpy chirped.

- - - - -  
- - - - -

A few hours after Travis was escorted from Millicent Mercy by Security Guy 2 and Marella, the nasal sergeant poked his head around the door to Detention Room One-C in the Claudia Detention Centre. After escorting both detainees to the questioning room once again, he explained to them that their bail had been granted, and that they were free to go. The proviso was that they remained at least thirty metres away from Nansy Pickles and Goff Pugh at all times.

Strangely enough, neither alien had anything to say about that, although the sergeant noted with interest that a small muscle had begun to twitch in the male lieutenant's cheek.

Eventually, though, the female ensign spoke up. "Who was it?" she asked.

The sergeant said nothing, but instead indicated the door to the questioning room with his head and motioned for the both of them to remain silent. Listening intently, they heard another nasal voice.

"Are you sure you can keep these two under control sir? After all, there's not telling what they're capable of... and that scrawny fellow has already admitted to an obsession with weaponry."

There was the briefest of pauses, during which Malcolm bristled with irritation.

Then, "Very well, if you're sure. They're in the questioning room now."

As Malcolm and Hoshi waited for their... well, their benefactor to arrive, there came from the other side of the door the most unmistakable sound, one that promptly caused the scowl to return to the armoury officer's face.

It was the sound of flapping.

- - - - -  
- - - - -

__

Two hours later. . .  
"Me?" Brim squeaked. "You came all this way to find me? Well, I must admit to being more than a little flattered, but I don't understand why."

Everyone was back in the meadow where everything had started. Shuttlepod Two sat sedately in the middle of the field, while a slightly battered and bruised Shuttlepod One was balanced at a somewhat precarious angle against a boulder closer to the cave network that could, in another timeline, have cost Captain Archer his Eagle Scout Orienteering badge (something which, incidentally, a young Malcolm Reed had excelled at).

There had as yet not been any kind of exchanging of experiences or anecdotes; indeed, a large amount of mutual embarrassment meant that many of the... finer details of the away mission would likely make it no further than respective personal logs, if that far at all.

But all of this is getting off the point. Which is...

Trip sighed patiently. "We're outta itonium," he explained to the confused Chalopian. "We were caught up in a plasma storm and most of our reserves were rendered useless. We were told that you might be able to help us."

"Me?" Brim bashfully covered part of his beak with a wing. "Commander, I hardly see how I would be able to help you in the matter."

"But the Trendarians said you were the most experienced engineer in this system," Trip persisted. "You gotta be able to help us."

Brim peeked over the feathers. "After today, I would be most willing to assist you in any way I could," he said sincerely. "However, there is just one small problem I think you may have overlooked, Commander."

"An' what would that be?" Trip asked.

Brim fluffed his feathers. "I have no idea what itonium is."

Trip was dumbfounded (and the rest of the crew was not much better). "But... I... you... No," he said, disbelievingly. "We had it on damn good authority that you would be able to help us."

"I am most sorry," Brim replied, "but -" He broke off. "One moment, please," he added, flapping up and around the bush he was perched on.

"What is it?" the captain asked, speaking for the first time.

For a few long moments there was no response. Then the Away Team were greeted with the quite unmistakable sound of... well...

"I apologise," Brim said, resurfacing from behind the bush. "It would appear that those damned nuts have finally worked their way through my system."

Nobody said anything (although mentally they were seeing plenty enough...).

A few seconds later, Trip's nose picked up something. "Cap'n," he said a little apprehensively, "you smell that?"

"Smell what?"

Trip floundered. "It smells like Engineerin'," he said.

As one, everybody with the exception of Brim (who had no sense of smell) sniffed hard.

"There's definitely something," Hoshi said after a while.

"This is bullshit," one of the crewmen muttered under his breath, but not so quietly that Trip didn't hear him.

"No," the chief engineer said slowly. "Birdshit. That's it!"

He pulled out a scanner and walked behind the bush to where Brim had done his "business", the rest of the two Away Teams watching him with varying degrees of scepticism. A few seconds later he called out again. "Cap'n... you're gonna want to see this..."

Jonathan walked around the bush and looked down at the readout on Trip's scanner. "Well," he said. "I'll be damned."


	9. Fate's Fickle Fortune Unflushed

At long last the finish! Dedicato? No! Though there's still time... Thanks to everyone who reviewed and/or read this collaboration. We may do another, and don't be surprised if this one has an epilogue. :)

* * *

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

* * *

**Chapter 9 - Fate's Fickle Fortune Un-flushed **

_Previously on Natalie's Merchant..._

"Well, Cap'ain, our reserve plasma relays are fused solid. We need some new ones...or some high-grade itonium."

°°°°°°°°°

"On behalf of the Secretary of Tourism and the Trendarian people: Welcome to Trendar! I'm sooooo happy to meet you!"

°°°°°°°°°

"We're in a real bad storm down here, Sub-commander."

°°°°°°°°°

_Zapppp!_

°°°°°°°°°

"You BLEEP-ing BLEEPS!!"

°°°°°°°°°

"Come on, Buggerov! Let's have a show then what!"

°°°°°°°°°

"Don't hurt him too badly, Travis... He's just defending- _Good Lord_! Travis! Travis??"

°°°°°°°°°

"OK, I want everybody down on the ground NOW!! Oh, man! Look at that butt-ugly ship!"

°°°°°°°°°

"Your bail has been posted. You're free to go."

°°°°°°°°°

"You came all this way to find me? Well, I must admit to being more than a little flattered, but I don't understand why."

°°°°°°°°°

"Smells like...Engineerin'."

°°°°°°°°°

_And now the conclusion of...

* * *

__**Natalie's Merchant**

* * *

_

An odd-looking monkey sat in an average-looking chair, staring down at his ordinary shoes. He was soon joined by another odd-looking monkey, who delicately bent and whispered in his ear. He nodded in agreement to something which seemed to satisfy odd-looking monkey #2, because she left, after which, odd-looking monkey #1, aka Jonathan Archer, waited.

°°°°°°°°°

The decision had not been an easy one to make, but the facts were irrefutable: Plumpy was a veritable itonium factory.

"Just what are you trying to say?" he squawked incredulously. (He also flapped incredulously, but his impromptu perch in the doctor's sickbay was less than steady, so he thought it best to limit any future dismay to noises only.)

Phlox, recently returned from his subterranean adventure, searched for the most agreeable language possible - a difficult task considering the subject matter and the delicate nature of the translations involved.

"Ahhh, yes," he said. "Well, it seems that your vacation spot, as it were, contains large deposits of the mineral, itonium!"

"And?"

"That is why communications were so difficult," T'Pol quietly explained to Captain Archer. "It is also, I believe, the reason for your equipment failure."

"Since when does itonium cause problems like that?"

"Since always," she continued. "Generally, the mineral is found only in limited amounts, so the effects are negligible. However, the concentration levels in this particular part of Natalie II are significantly higher than normal."

"All extremely fascinating, to be sure," Brim grumped. "But that still doesn't explain to me just exactly _why in the name of all that's decent and proper_ you feel it necessary to examine my-"

"Mr. Plumpy," Phlox interrupted. "You have the most amazing digestive tract!"

"Thanks?"

"You see, your enzymes do naturally what takes us years of expensive and painstaking processing. Your digestive system, and I dare say the digestive systems of most, if indeed not all Chalopans, possesses the unique ability to refine itonium!"

"99.999% pure," T'Pol added. "That is the highest quality I have ever seen."

"But I told you three times already," Brim puffed. "It's just not possible! I haven't eaten any of your fancy rocks!"

"I...understand your confusion," the captain nodded. "In fact, I share it."

"The level of concentration is such that it permeates the soil," T'Pol told them. "Every living thing in that area contains traces of it."

"Nuts!" Plumpy scoffed.

"Exactly!" Phlox chimed.

"What? Ohhhh," he said, finally getting it. "Though still, how would you feel if I followed you around with a funnel and a baggy? Waiting for nature to take its course? Hmmm? How would you like that??"

Without regard for life or wing, he flapped his disgust.

"Well, we probably wouldn't be too happy about it," Archer sympathized. "But then again, our... 'waste' has no value."

"It's not worth a squat," T'Pol said flatly, after which both Jonathan and Phlox nearly threw a circuit breaker trying to decide whether they'd just heard her say that until she explained, calmly and more flatly, how the 'squat' was the base unit of the Chalopan currency system, unlike the 'bundle', which was at the top, and "I believe that ultimately your droppings will prove to be...quite valuable."

"Just, uh, how valuable are we talking about?" Brim perked.

She was about to answer when the party was interrupted by Commander Tucker, fresh from engineering.

"It's the real deal, Cap'ain," he grinned. "As soon as we manage to collect enough..._stuff_, I can start rebuilding the relays."

"Just how much will you need?" Archer asked.

"I don't know."

"Take a guess."

"It's hard to say..."

"Estimate."

"I'd _really_ need my calculator."

"_Guess-ti-mate_," Jonathan furrowed. "That's an order."

"Ok, well... A hundred liters? That oughta get us started..."

The captain looked at Trip, then everyone in turn looked at Plumpy.

"I'll try my best," he said.  
  
"···" 

"···" 

"···" (flatly)

"I appreciate your...spirit," Archer nodded, "but I...think we may need to try other avenues."

"What exactly do you have in mind?"

°°°°°°°°°

Jooly Damp had just finished filling out the Schedule 625B Department Secretary Executive Replacement Chair requisition form, when Nansy Pickles appeared suddenly in the doorway. At first quite startled, she soon rushed to hug.

"Oh, Nansy! Are you alright? It must have been awful!"

"I'm fine!" she smiled broadly. "These things happen."

"I heard about your coat..."

"Mm-hm," she hemmed, tight-lipped. "It was irreplaceable..."

"I'm terribly sorry."

Nansy sighed deeply.

"I know," she said, then changing the subject, "Soooo how are you doing? And who was that I saw kissing Doctor Necessiter on the cover of The Suns?"

"_Well_," Jooly said coyly. She then held up an irrelevant piece of paper so as to nonchalantly display a very relevant _ring_.

"Oh my God! Jooly!" Nansy screamed. "I'm sooooo happy for you! When did _this_ happen?!"

"It was quite sudden," she said. "It's all been such a blur!"

"I didn't even know you two were an item!"

"Neither did we," Jooly laughed. "It just sort of... Well, I mean, I've always thought that Iam was, you know, cute, but- I guess we owe it all to you, really!"

"Me?"

"Yes," Jooly said. "Your...unfortunate run in with the aliens seemed to ignite things, you know?"

"I don't," Nansy grinned blankly.

"It's just that...we both were so worried about you, then when we found out you were ok, we both were equally relieved. The resulting highs and lows sort of built up the emotional charge which must have been underlying all along."

"How romantic," Nansy blinked. "Soooooooo, when's the happy day?"

"The 43rd."

"The 43rd??" she gasped. "God, Jooly, that's next Sartreday!"

"I know!" she replied. "I'll barely have time to find my dress!"

"You are wearing black, aren't you? I mean, you deserve to."

"You're sweet!" Jooly demurred. "I am."

"Who's, uhh, going to be your Best Maid?" Nansy asked expectantly.

"Well, you know, it's funny you should ask that, because, uhh, Iam and I talked about that very thing this morning, right before you got here as a matter of fact, yes, and I lobbied for you, Nansy, I did, but really, you know how Iam is about family..."

"Glynis?"

"Hmm? Ohhh. Yes! Glynis! Of course!" Jooly sputtered. "But I do want you to be Second-Best... If you're up for it?"

"Certainly," Nansy smiled graciously. "I'd love to! I'm just soooooo happy for you!"

This crescendo was followed by more hugs and a few sniffles, as the two shared a moment.

"I just hope we're doing the right thing," Jooly said finally. "Sometimes I wish we could have taken things much more slowly. You know, like you and Goff..."

"Mm-hm," Nansy clenched.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"No, it's alright."

"Have you two... I mean, has he- ?"

"Not a peep."

"Well, you know, Goff is the quiet type," Jooly said. "Maybe you have to nudge him a bit."

"I've tried that."

"You weren't too subtle, were you?" she asked. "You know how men are."

Nansy drew in a deep breath and promptly crossed her arms.

"It was about a month ago," she began. "I said, 'What do you think about marriage?' He said, 'I think it's a lovely institution.' I said, 'Do you think you'll ever get married?' He said, 'Oh yes. Someday.' I said, 'Do you think _we'll_ ever get married?'"

"You didn't!"

"I did."

"What did he say?"

"He didn't say anything. He just made this sort of gurgling sound and turned pale... Well, _more_ pale."

"Oh dear..."

"BLEEP-er," she muttered.

"Maybe he's just not ready, you know?" Jooly shrugged. "How long have you two been seeing each other?"

"Three years, eight months, and fourteen days."

"Oh," said Jooly. "Well, he was quite brave in his Section 4, though, you have to admit."

"Yes, he was, wasn't he?" Nansy smiled.

"I would have loved to have seen that!"

"Jooly!"

"Well, I would have!" she admitted. "Was it a good fight?"

"Not really," Nansy said. "I mean, you know how Goff is with his Thrashing... I almost felt sorry for that idiot alien! The fight lasted two seconds, tops!"

"Speaking of the aliens," Jooly said. "I wonder how Iambard is doing?"

"God, don't tell me those people are still here!"

"I believe they are. Iam said they'd found a source of that stuff they'd been looking for, then he said their captain asked him if he wouldn't mind helping them contact the Chalopan embassy."

"I wonder what those goons would want with them?"

Jooly shrugged.

°°°°°°°°°

High above and one hour later, Captain Archer, his dog, and his science officer walked briskly down the corridor towards the shuttle bay.

"I just got a call from Doctor Necessiter," he said. "The Chalopan High Council has granted us a meeting."

"That is good news," she said. "Lieutenant Reed has the landing party assembled. They are all waiting for you in the bay."

"Alright," he said. "You have the ship until we get back. Oh, and thanks for doing those quarterly crew evaluation reports yesterday."

"You are welcome."

"So what exactly happened between you and Admiral Forrest?"

"I simply did as he requested and finished your reports in time for his presentation."

"He said you wrote them in Vulcan?"

"Since none of the reports had been completed," she explained, "and since Admiral Forrest seemed to be in a hurry, I chose to complete the forms in my native language...to save _time_."

Captain Archer stopped short in front of the shuttle bay doors and looked her squarely in the eyes.

"I can understand _that_ part," he squinted. "But the admiral told me you wrote them in _Ancient_ Vulcan. He said their translator wouldn't work, and he had to ask Soval for help."

There was a long and heavy silence.

"Ok, well, whatever," Archer said, bending to pet Porthos. "Just, from now on, do everything in English."

T'Pol nodded.

"Oh, and one more thing," he remembered. "Trip said his sensors reported some unusual water consumption on your deck. Have you noticed any leaks?"

"No."

"Well, keep your eyes open."

"Certainly," she said. "May I ask how many kilos of nuts you plan to deliver to the Chalopans?"

"Enough to get things...moving," he said. "I guess..."

"Is that another euphemism?"

"Yes."

"May I ask why you seem uncomfortable with the Chalopan digestive processes?"

"Well, in less than forty-eight hours, I'm scheduled to go before the Chalopan High Council, present them with how ever many nuts we collect this morning, then ask if they would distribute them among the population on the condition that the participants save their crap for a few weeks so that Trip can fix his relays."

"And?"

"Just watch the ship until we get back."

"How long do you think the harvesting will take?"

"Well, with Plumpy's help," he guessed, "no more than four hours... Assuming he remembers where the trees were and providing we don't get hit by another storm."

"I will try to warn you if one is approaching."

"Much appreciated," he smiled. "Come on, boy."

Porthos barked.

°°°°°°°°°

Porthos stared.

"Quit it."

Porthos stared.

"I told you... I don't have any cheese!"

Porthos stared and wagged his tail.

Malcolm looked the other way.

Suddenly, a strong gust of wind rocked the shuttle pod, lifting it up a good meter before rudely returning it to the ground. It landed with a thud, a bark, a few choice swear words, and a series of irritated..._squawks_.

"I say, Bugg-, err... Lieutenant Reed! Why do you humans have such poorly designed craft?"

"I haven't the foggiest," he grumped. "I'm just the armoury officer."

"Still..."

Less than an hour after reaching Natalie II, the landing/nut-gathering party had been caught in a storm that was reasonably similar to the one the day before, the only real difference being that this one was much, much worse.

"Listen, just how long do these 'monsoons' last?" Malcolm asked, changing the subject.

"Some for days on end!" Plumpy chirped merrily.

"_God._"

"What's the matter, Reedy?" he asked. "You don't mind if I call you Reedy do you? Lieutenant Reed seems so formal, what? Whereas Reedy... Reedy has such a nice ring to it! Reedy! Reedy!"

"I don't rightly care what you call me," Malcolm fumed. "So long as you do it quietly."

"Alright," Brim squawked lightly. "Reedy, Reedy."

Outside, the rain suddenly turned to hail the size of bowling balls. Fortunately for all concerned, the reference was to Chalopan bowling balls, so in actuality, the stones were quite small.

"Reedy? Where's the rest of the crew? Reedy, Reedy!"

"I imagine they are once more holed up in the cave," he sighed. "_Lucky sods_."

"What was that, Reedy?" Brim asked. "Reedy?"

"I said they are probably in the cave."

"No, the other thing, Reedy!" the bird clarified. "What's a sod?"

"Well, it's a, umm..."

"Y-e-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s?"

Just then Malcolm's communicator went beep, and he gratefully answered it.

"This is Reedy- _oh bloody hell_," he cringed, then taking a slow, deep breath, "This is Reed."

"Lieutenant?"

"Sorry, Sub-commander," he said. "This is Lieutenant Reed. Go ahead."

"What is your status?"

_"Is that T'Pol?"_

"I am currently trap- er... I mean, I am currently taking shelter in the shuttle pod with our guest. Another storm came up, and we were separated from the rest of the party."

_"Tell her I said hello!"_

"How many kilograms of nuts have you collected so far?" she asked.

_"Reedy?"_

"Listen, will you please be quiet??"

"Lieutenant?"

"I'm sorry, Sub-commander."

_"Tell her I said hello!"_

"Mr. Plumpy says-"

"I heard him," she said. "Tell him that I said hello in return."

"Did you hear her?" he asked the bird.

"Yes! Tell her that I-"

"You can talk to her yourself when I'm _finished_," Malcolm gritted. "If you don't mind?"

"Alright, Reedy!"

"Reedy?" she crackled.

"Reedy-Reed Reedy!" Brim confirmed.

Malcolm slumped.

"Lieutenant?"

"Go ahead, Sub-commander," he sighed.

"How many kilos of nuts have you collected so far?" she repeated.

"Four large barrels' worth," he said. "I'm not sure of the weight."

"Very well."

"Um, Sub-commander? The captain said that you were planning to warn us of any and all approaching storms..."

"Yes."

"May I ask why you _didn't_?"

"Apparently the storms origi... at ex... of the terr...," T'Pol said statically. "There was n.. way to ...dict them, at ...east none th... our sens... coul... dete-"

"You're breaking up," Reed yelled, but it was too late. He closed the communicator and his eyes and enjoyed about a second of peace before:

"Back to just you and me, Reedy!" Brim banged. "And Porthos! We mustn't forget Porthos! Por-r-r-t-h-o-s-s!"

Porthos perked at his name then quickly returned to his comfy curl.

"Drat!" the bird remembered suddenly. "I never did get to thank T'Pol for the Vulcan Meditation Salts."

(He didn't want to... He tried not to... But finally...)

"What the devil are Vulcan Meditation Salts?"

"Well, Reedy-Reed... As far as I can tell, they are very similar to regular bath salts, the main difference being the name, 'Vulcan Meditation Salts', which makes them a hundred times more valuable! Hee!"

"We don't have baths on Enterprise! What would she be doing with such a thing?"

"Say that again, Reedy!"

"Say what again?"

"Bahhthz!"

"Baths."

"Ha!"

"I'm glad you're amused," Malcolm sneered. "Regardless, why did T'Pol give you Vulcan Meditation Salts?"

"She didn't have a squat to her name, Reedy!" Brim said. "Say 'bahhthzzz' again!"

"No. She didn't have a- ? _Why did T'Pol give you the Salts?_"

"I needed _something_ to bail you out with, didn't I, Reedy? I don't know how things work where you come from, but around here you don't just get out of jail free!"

"You bailed us out with bath salts??"

"Bahhth!" Brim mocked. "Ha!"

"···"

"Ooo! I didn't know humans could change colors!" the bird exclaimed. "Can you do purple??"

"I can in a few more minutes," Reed clenched. "You bailed us out with bath salts?"

"Ha! Noooo! Don't be ridiculous!"

"How did you bail us out then?"

"Credit card."

"You have a credit card??"

"Two," he squawked. "Why does that surprise you?"

"I- You- Grrbbb! Where do the bloody bath salts fit in the picture??"

"It was a trade, Reedy-Reed," Plumpy said. "Economics wasn't your strongest subject, was it? You did go to school, didn't you, Reedy? Reedy?"

"Yes."

"Speaking of learning things, Reedy!" he continued. "I was looking through your database earlier!"

"What of it?"

"I was looking particularly at your games!"

"And?"

"Do you perchance know how to play...checkers??"

"They're not checkers, they're-"

"Yes? Yes??"

Malcolm's eyes narrowed into two tiny slits.

"Not checkers, but-t-t-t-t?" Brim prompted. "Come on..."

"Alright, who put you- ?"

"Reedy?"

"Never mind," Malcolm said. "I suppose he put you up to this 'Reedy' business as well?"

"Hee!"

"Right."

"Where are you going, Reedy?" Brim asked as Malcolm stood smartly up.

"Well, first, I'm going to open the hatch," he said as he pushed the button.

"Reedy?"

"Then, I'm going to run across that field, through the woods, and into the cave," he said as a torrent of wind and rain blew inside the shuttle.

"Reedy??"

"THEN, I am going to commit murder upon one Commander Charles Tucker the LAST."

"Lahhhst! Ha!"

Malcolm closed his eyes, drew a calming breath, then bolted head first into the storm.

"Bring me back some fresh nuts!" Brim yelled. "Reedy-Red-Reedy!!"

°°°°°°°°°

Twenty or so small, angry birds perched high in a large, indifferent tree. They were in the middle of an emergency meeting that Carl had called to determine what action, if any, should be taken in response to the recent spate of nut thefts. At times quite heated, what with the raging storm and everything, they finally decided that the culprits were indeed those damned tall monkeys, and "Are we just going to sit here like a bunch of shuttlecocks while these foreigners come in and take our food???"

"Noooooo!!" they all tweeted angrily, followed by Jack whistling at the top of his lungs, "Look! The rock's opening up!"

With this, they all peered down at the mysterious rock in the meadow, just as one of the evil, nut-stealing monkeys sprang evilly from it.

"Why, there's one of the bastards now!" Carl shrieked. "What say you, Jim?"

"Aye."

"What say you, Gary?"

"Aye."

"All in favor, then?"

There was a collective, "Aye!", at which point Carl tweeted, "So be it!"

Then, puffing himself up into a feathery, bellicose ball, he whistled quite loudly:  
  
"ATTACK!!!"

With this command, the twenty or so small birds took to the air and descended upon the _not-quite-as-tall-as-all-that_ monkey, who promptly ducked, screamed, and flailed the suddenly agressive air.

Inside the shuttle pod, Brim reacted quickly. He immediately flapped up and closed the hatch, then he squarely pecked the comm button.

"I say! Enterprise!"

"This is Enterprise."

"Ahh! T'Pol! I wanted to thank you for the Vulcan Mediation Salts!"

"I trust you were able to sell them for a reasonable sum?"

"Yes, yes!" he said. "The lady at Pier 4 Imports was quite pleased. She also asked when she might expect another shipment?"

"I imagine it will be quite some time before we return to this sector," T'Pol crackled flatly.

"Too bad," Brim sighed. "I don't suppose there are any supply ships that travel regularly in this direction?"

"None of which I am aware," she said.

"Darn."

"Was there anything else?"

"Hmm? No, not really... Oh, wait! Yes! Your Lieutenant Reed is being attacked by, umm... a _plague_ of small, angry birds."

"Pardon?"

"Does your shuttle pod have some kind of horn that I could blow?" he asked. "I'm sure that would scare them off."

"Did you say that Lieutenant Reed is being attacked by birds?"

"Small ones, yes."

"What is he doing outside the shuttle pod?"

"Some kind of odd dance," Brim muttered as he squinted through the window.

"No," T'Pol crackled firmly. "_Why_ is he outside the shuttle pod?"

"He said something about going to murder Commander Tucker..."

"···"

"How about a spot light?" the bird asked. "Does this 'ship' of yours have one of those? That would probably scare them off as well."

"Did you say," T'Pol asked calmly, "that Lieutenant Reed was going to murder Commander Tucker?"

"That's what he said."

"Did you notice anything unusual about him before he left?"

"Well, he _did_ change colors."

"To what color did he change?"

"Red," Brim said. "Is that unusual?"

There was a moment of silence.

"Not particularly."

"I see... Oh, jolly good! He appears to be fighting his way back to the shuttle pod!" Plumpy said, hopping up and down in front of the window.

"Yoo-Hoo!" he flapped excitedly. "Reedy-Reed! Hurry, Reedy, hurry!!"

"What is happening?" T'Pol asked.

"He's stopped."

"Are the birds still attacking him?"

"Viciously."

"Mister Plumpy," T'Pol said firmly. "If it is not already, open the hatch and let him in."

"I would," Brim said. "But he seems to have changed his mind for some reason. He's running in the opposite direction."

"Wh... wo..ld t.. te.. .im to st.. .nd turn b... to the p.d?" she cracked.

"I'm sorry," he squawked. "Couldn't understand a word you said. Oh! He's made it to the trees, and it looks like... It looks like the birds are retreating..."

"P..don?"

"Or regrouping," Plumpy shrugged.

"D... t.. th... ov.. h.s f....................." T'Pol probably said, but Brim could in no way be sure since the signal had failed completely. He shook his head at the comm, then did the same to the rest of the pod.

"How did they _ever_ manage to get this far out in space?" he asked Porthos.

Porthos didn't know, or if he did, he wasn't talking.

°°°°°°°°°

Doctor-Secretary Iambard Necessiter stepped lightly through the door of his outer office, so lightly, in fact, that his Jooly didn't notice, and, before she had a chance to, he swept down upon her and planted a big, loud smooch on her neck, causing alarm, followed by surprise, followed by laughter, followed by a bit more smooching, until finally:

"You have got to go look in your office!" Jooly giggled.

"My office? Why?"

"Just go look!" she coaxed.

He did as she said.

"Sweet heavens!" he exclaimed from the other room. "Who rearranged my desk? Did you do this?"

"No," she said joining him. "Guess who did!"

"I have no idea," Iam said. "Would you just look at that stapler! And the Paste-It notes... Would would've have thought?"

"Well, Darling, your desk was rearranged by none other than the one and only-"

"Oskar Pickles!"

"I thought you had no idea!"

"It had to be," he said. "Just look how my inbox casts a shadow line on the paperweight! Classic Pickles."

"It is quite lovely, isn't it?"

"What on Trendar brought him by?" Iambard asked. "And what was he doing in here?"

"He came looking for Nansy," Jooly told him. "He wanted to take her out to lunch since she'd been having such an awful week."

"Ah!"

"When he arrived," she continued. "Nansy and I were on your computer looking at wedding dresses. He just popped in, took one look at your desk, shook his head, and went to work."

"How long did he take?"

"Not five minutes!" she said. "Can you believe that?"

"Amazing."

"He was going to do mine, but he was too worn out. He promised to come back sometime though."

"I can't believe I missed him," Necessiter said. "And all because of those Sun Flower people..."

"Starfleet," she corrected. "Did you finally get them taken care of?"

"I certainly hope so!" he said. "But either way, they've finally left orbit."

"Thank goodness," Jooly sighed.

"You can say that again," Iam agreed. "Say! Go sit in my chair so I can take your picture with the desk!"

"Alright," she said, after which she moved carefully behind and squeaked delicately down in his chair.

"Lovely!" Necessiter focused. "Now say, umm... Uhhh.... Oh, what is that dairy product that they always tell people to eat on these occasions?"

"Cheese, Darling," she squeaked.

"Indeed."

°°°°°°°°°

The odd-looking monkey named Archer slumped in his chair. He had been waiting on the Chalopan High Council for three hours and was none too happy. But it wasn't like he had a choice.

At long last, the tiny doors opened, and three elderly birds waddled out onto what looked like a long table. They all bowed, then they each hopped upon the three ceremonial perches before them, after which, the bird on the highest perch spoke.

"We're terribly sorry to have kept you waiting, uhh, Captain Archer, is it?" the bird said.

"No problem," he said. "Yes, I am Captain Jonathan Archer of the starship Enterprise."

"Very good," the middle bird said. "Now, what can we do for you?"

"The people of Earth bring greetings to the peop-, er... the birds of Chalopy," Archer said. "We are explorers, and we welcome this opportunity to make first contact."

"Excellent!" the middle bird chirped. "We are always pleased to meet new species, regardless of their flying ability. We don't discriminate here, you know."

"I appreciate that, uh, Mister...?"

"Oh, my sincerest apologies Captain!" the middle bird said. "I am Potentate Tim Wiffle, to my right is High Juxtapost Glim Frootsnak, and lastly, to my left is Ranger Mim Hue."

The Potentate again bowed, as did the other two birds.

"So," said Tim. "Tell us a little about Earth."

And the captain did just that, as the two species took the time to become better acquainted with each other. Finally, though, Jonathan got down to the business.

"We recently visited your neighbor, Trendar," the captain began. "We went there looking for some...spare parts. We didn't find any, but we managed to run across some raw materials."

"Yes," Mim squawked. "Do go on."

"If you will allow me," Archer said. "I have a sample of the materials in question."

"Certainly!" the potentate gestured.

With that, the captain got his communicator and called Hoshi, who quickly appeared with bowl in hand and bird on shoulder. Oddly enough - at least from the captain's perspective - the bird, Brim Plumpy, was carrying a small briefcase.

"Gentle, uh, birds, please allow my to introduce Ensign Hoshi Sato and-"

"Brim," Brim said, taking the briefcase from his beak. "Brim Plumpy."

"A pleasure to meet you both," Tim said, then turning to Brim, "Are you their lawyer?"

"No, Potentate Wiffle," he said. "I am but a humble merchant from Natalie, having migrated there some seventeen years ago. Hoshi, if you would..."

Hoshi nodded and placed the bowl before the council members. Brim hopped down and jumped up on one of the guest perches.

"Thank you, Hoshie," he bowed. "The purpose of my return visit is to help my newly found friends and to establish a special trading venture between Trendar and Chalopy. I believe this venture will benefit everyone involved!"

The three dignitaries nodded and smiled then looked into the bowl.

"They appear to be nuts," Mim said, adjusting his tiny spectacles.

"That's because they are."

"I, for one, enjoy nuts," Tim mused. "But we have plenty here already."

"Not like these," Brim said. "Try one!"

Tim made his selection, then, after a good bit of effort, he defeated the shell and promptly dispatched the meat inside.

"Delicious!" he exclaimed. "Mim, Glim, you two should try some of these!"

They did, then Tim asked, "I wonder why they're so tasty?"

"They contain trace amounts of itonium!" Brim chirped.

Tim, Glim, and Mim all stopped mid-chew.

"Isn't that, uh, something we should be concerned about?" Mim mumbled.

Captain Archer quickly spoke.

"Our doctor has conducted many tests on Mister Plumpy here," he said. "The itonium is harmless."

"Yet valuable," Brim added. "Especially when it's refined."

"And just how do you refine it?" Mim asked.

Jonathan sighed deeply.

"Funny thing about that," he began.

"One moment, Captain," Brim interrupted.

"Sure."

With a click and a click, Plumpy opened his small brief case and withdrew some tiny documents. He then placed them in front of the three Chalopans.

"What," Tim inquired, "is all this?"

"Just a standard non-disclosure agreement," Brim smiled. "I have to protect my patent rights!"

"Well, I don't know..."

"Oh, come on!" Brim goaded. "Don't be chicken!"

This universal insult had its desired effect: each of the birds promptly signed the tiny pages.

"Alright, we've seen your nuts, so to speak; we've signed your papers... Now, tell us," Tim flapped. "What is this refining process? Captain Archer? You were about to say?"

"Yeah..." Archer hemmed. "Ok, well... It's like this:"

* * *

°

* * *

_the end_

* * *

  
°

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End file.
